


Play Me Like You Do

by Kamalika



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Graphic depiction of violence and torture, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 81,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamalika/pseuds/Kamalika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters, the most ruthless and feared hunters in the history of the supernatural are coming to Beacon Hills on the reluctant invitation of Chris Argent, probably expecting all supernatural creatures of Beacon Hills to tremble in their shoes.</p><p>Evidently there are a few surprises in store for them...</p><p>Including a werewolf with a dry sense of humour!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Argent here.”

“Uncle Chris?”

“...”

“Hello...Chris? You there?”

“Sammy?”

“Hey...”

“What gives? Last I heard you were in a different continent. That was almost two years ago!”

“Sorry. We were...”

“It is OK Sam. In our line of work it happens. We hunters don’t have time for our family, let alone the extended one.”

“No, but really, I am sorry Uncle Chris. We are both sorry.”

“Did Dean just snort?”

“Nope...” A loud bang followed by a thump which suspiciously sounded like someone falling off the chair. “Dean is...well...I just sent him away. He was being difficult.”

“Tell me anything new!”

“Well...there is...um...this...thing...I wouldn't...actually call but it was...ahh...kind of...”

"Son, can you kindly string more than two words together so that I can actually make sense of it?"

"Uncle Chris...the thing is you were always very supportive and we have...like...left no stone unturned. So we thought maybe you could...you know..." The voice trailed off once again and it sounded...scared.

Chris Argent gripped the phone tightly. “Sam you are starting to worry me and given what I have been facing for the last two years in Beacon Hills that is really something.”

“Beacon Hills...yeah...that is actually...”

“Sam. Cut to the chase will ya?”

“I think Dean is dying and we would like to come down to Beacon Hills. We need your help.” The voice went still like he couldn’t quite believe he had spilled it all in one breath.

“What!”

“Please uncle.” Chris could almost picture Sam gripping the telephone with knuckles gone white, a deep furrow between a pair of soulful eyes. Eyes that remained soft and innocent even after he had become a hardened hunter. “Will you help us?”

Chris sighed and pressed his left hand to his eyes.

“Come over. We are going to talk about it.”

Before Sam could deluge him with thanks, he disconnected the call and started pressing down a string of familiar numbers in his mobile.

“Chris?”

“We have a problem.”


	2. Chapter 2

“THIS is the problem?” Derek’s eyebrows shot up.

Well, Stiles could not really blame his incredulity. When Chris had called Scott earlier in the day about a new problem and then revealed the most capable and ruthless pair of hunters of the current generation was visiting Beacon Hills in a few days time, they certainly didn’t expect them to be two kids making silly faces at the camera.

“How are these two related to you again?” Scott frowned. He had reasons to be frowning. No Argent that they knew of, even Alison in her best mood, behaved quite this ridiculously. These two looked like a couple of adorable dorks, though to be fair to them it was a ten-year-old picture. These two men have grown, aged and became hardened, killing God only knew how many supernatural creatures just for fun’s sake!

“They are my sister’s kid.”

Derek looked at Chris sharply.

“Not Kate.” Chris said hastily. “My step-sister, from Gerard’s first marriage. She was, in fact, the exact opposite of Kate.”

Derek started to open his mouth but Chris beat him to it.

“And to answer your previous question. Yes. Derek. These ARE the problems.”

“But these two, they...” Stiles flailed, pointing at the younger kid in the photo, “he looks even more of a puppy than Scott.”

“Hey,” Scott said indignantly.

“And this one,” Stiles marched on, ignoring his friend, “tall, dark Macbroody seems to have jumped out of some crappy romance novel. I mean seriously, this look is so yesterday. Kid needs to get a wake-up call or something. This was pretty much nailed, practised and perfected by a dude called Derek Hale a looooong time back.”

Chris heaved a put-upon sigh and looked up at the ceiling of Derek’s loft like he could not quite believe his life had come to this.

“You said they want your help.” Derek said. “So maybe they are too much caught up in their own problem to bother us.”

“With our luck?” Stiles squeaked. “They might bump into you or Scott or Liam in the fucking gas station and decide you are an abomination or something and start shooting.”

“I wouldn’t say they are quite THAT fanatic.” Chris said doubtfully. “Though it's been almost ten years since I last saw them. But I have heard they are quite honorable boys and they follow the code.”

“So why are you worried?” Derek frowned.

“As Stiles said.” Chris sighed. “With our luck...I think we should be on red alert for the next few days or I would go so far as to say until they are safely gone from Beacon Hills altogether.”

“What if they never leave?” Lydia, who was sitting quietly up to now piped up. “What if they decide to settle down?”

“Then we would think of the best strategy as to how to approach them. We would stick to it and we would be extremely cautious in the meanwhile.” Stiles answered before Chris could say anything, but the hunter nodded in agreement.

“Right.” Derek conceded. “That is the best thing to do. Keeping under the radar.”

“Glad you approve.” Stiles said drily. “Now I can die happy.”

“Live to please you.” Derek flashed a blinding grin at Stiles who windmilled, tried to balance himself on the bar stool he was sitting and eventually fell down.

Scott and Lydia rolled their eyes simultaneously.

It was Derek, who ultimately took pity on the mass of flailing limbs and pulled Stiles back on his feet by the scruff of his shirt.

“So.” Stiles dusted his jeans. “Lie low...really, really low.”

“Don’t go into any metaphor.” Lydia said hastily. “I am sure we all got the picture.”

....

24 hours later:

The doorbell chimed.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Instead of checking into a hotel they had rented an apartment in the same building as Uncle Chris. The apartment was semi-furnished and they were in the top floor while Chris Argent lived in the second.

They just had a discussion with the elder hunter which had lasted well over two hours and had ended predictably with Dean threatening to rip out the pages of Chris’s books on supernatural maladies. 

“Are we expecting someone?” Dean asked.

“Not that I know of.” Sam said warily.

Dean walked to the door and pressed one ear to it.

“Who is this?” He barked.

“I am a friend of Chris.” A voice came through the door and it seemed...mildly distracted.

“What is your name? How do you know Chris?”

“How about you open the door and then we can go on with the Spanish Inquisition like civilised human beings.” The voice drawled.

“Sorry we can’t open the door unless I get some kind of identity.” Sam piped up.

“Oh for Christ’s sake what are you? A couple of 5-year old?” The voice groaned exasperatedly.

“Trust me we have reasons not to open our door to a stranger.” Sam murmured.

“Trust ME I know the feeling only too well.” The voice snapped.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. How could he hear that?!?!

“Now would you please open? Your neighbours are giving me funny stares.” 

It was ultimately the tone that did it for them. It sounded annoyed and there was no effort to conceal the mocking disdain. It didn’t sound like one who would strangle them in their sleep. It sounded like one who would gut them in broad daylight after a fair fight.

Dean gripped his blade in one hand hiding it at his back and yanked the door open with the other. But the effect was lost as the man didn’t even look startled, but only mildly amused.

Dean gaped.

For filling the door with his tall frame was beyond any comparison the most gorgeous man he had ever clapped his eyes upon and Dean didn’t even know he swung that way.

“Derek?” Sam squeaked from behind. Dean whirled around, betrayed.

“You know him!”

“Well we kind of bumped into each other at New York during that Tamara incident.” Sam shrugged.

“Hi Sammy.” Derek smiled and Dean almost did a double take. How somebody so hot could smile like that...like a fucking goofball and it kind of made Dean all warm inside! 

“Um...” Derek’s attention was suddenly snapped to him and the smile changed imperceptibly from friendly to borderline predatory. 

Dean gulped. He shouldn’t have insisted on finishing the bottle of Jack Daniels last night. He was probably still a bit hung-over, or so he hoped.

“So...” Dean drawled, trying to tear his eyes away from Derek’s.

Derek raised one eyebrow, mouth quirking.

“Oh sorry. I forgot the introduction.” Sammy intervened snapping Dean out of his trance. Dean knew he loved his brother for a reason. 

“Dean, Derek. Derek, Dean. Hunter, werewolf.”

One heart attack after the other!

Without thinking Dean had slammed Derek against the wall with his blade right at his throat.

“Dean!!!” Sam sounded scandalised and Derek...he just burst out laughing.

What the fuck!

“Is my blade ticklish?” Dean growled at Derek. It was difficult for Derek’s eyes were really distracting (what colour were those by the way) and his laughter was blindingly beautiful. “What is so funny?” 

Dean was getting angrier. He was losing control of his emotions which was the worst thing that could happen to a hunter while faced with a supernatural creature, especially as powerful as this one, a frigging werewolf!

“Aside from the fact that I can break you into two before you can even make a dent on my skin you mean?” Derek huffed. “This is so...reverse. Stiles would get such kick out of it. Would you care to do a re-run in my loft for his benefit?”

Dean stared at the skin stretched over Derek’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed and had a sudden urge to press his nose in the crook of Derek's neck to feel his pulse.

He stomped down the feeling and looked the werewolf into the eyes again. Derek's nostrils flared and suddenly he was not smiling anymore. He looked very serious, scowly even and somehow Dean felt it was his default expression. And he was holding himself perfectly still, impossibly, inhumanly still. Dean was not fooled by the stillness. Dean matched Derek in height and girth almost exactly, but he could feel a primal aura of power almost radiating off the werewolf. Dean knew in his heart he could slam Derek so easily earlier only because Derek had let him. But why would he do that! He got attacked by a hunter and his every instinct should have screamed at him to wolf out and to lash back, but there was no sign of the wolf. It was a man, a preternaturally hot young man who was now staring back at him with those grey-green eyes. God, those eyes were really...something!

“I have no clue what you are talking about, dog.”

“Dean, come on” Sam grabbed Dean’s arms and tried to drag him back as gently as he could “He is not a threat.”

Dean released his hold on Derek and took a couple of steps back. Derek was still looking at him serenely. 

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. “My brother is sort of an asshole.”

“Hey!”

“He saved my life Dean.” Sam looked at Dean in his unique I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you way. “Why did you attack him?”

“He is a killer.” Dean said flatly. Derek didn’t even so much as blink.

“Derek?!?!” Sam exclaimed. “He cannot even hurt a fly. He used to -”

“Sam,” Derek cut him off mid-sentence. “I have an important message for you guys. I will catch up with you later.”

“Ok?” Sam said skeptically, casting nervous glances at Dean, who was so far unsuccessful into tearing his eyes away from Derek.

“You are into the Hale territory now.” Derek started and his demeanour had completely changed. His arms were crossed over his chiseled chest and his shoulders were squared. He gave off a vibe that would stop anybody in their tracks. He looked raw power trapped mistakenly into a human body.

He was still as beautiful but at the same time terrifying and cold.

“Even though we have a new alpha, we have faced enough threats to know how to hold our ground against the worst of them. If you harm a single hair on any of our pack, you will not leave this town alive.” Derek said evenly, never even trying to appear threatening, but Sam or Dean didn’t have an ounce of doubt about the sincerity of the threat.

“So basically if one of your more feral pack members eviscerate us we cannot defend ourselves?” Dean shot back.

“They won’t.” Derek said patiently. “Here in Beacon Hills we protect the innocent, both human and supernatural. But you can hardly call yourself that.”

“What?” 

“How long have you had the Mark?” Derek jerked his chin towards Dean’s hand. His expression stern and his eyes cold like glittering jewels. He looked completely different than the smiling man who entered into their apartment earlier.

“How many bodies did your brother hid for you.” 

Derek never raised his voice, but there was something in it that sent a chill down the spine of both the brothers. 

Derek’s entire façade screamed ‘dangerous’ right at that moment.

“How...how do you know about the mark?” Dean faltered. He was wearing a full-sleeved button down. Derek needed to have an x-ray vision to be able to see it.

“I can feel it.” Derek said gravely. “The Mark of Cain. I don’t know how you got it, but you need to stay away from my friends.”

“Are you in a position to threaten me?” Dean took a step towards Derek. 

“Well, are YOU?” Derek quirked his eyebrows again.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm.

“Der we are only here to meet Chris and to try and figure out how to remove the mark.” He said earnestly. “We have no intention to hunt werewolves or to hurt anybody in your pack.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think you are the problem here Sammy.”

“I can’t believe you two are on nickname basis!” Dean wanted to throw his hands in the air.

Derek looked at him and for a second Dean thought he could see his face softening, but it immediately hardened over. 

“Well Derek and I...kind of...we have a history together...”

“Whoa!” Dean’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “If you have defiled my little brother...”

Derek just leveled a flat look at him.

“What! NO!” Sam blushed furiously. “God Dean!”

“Well...so explain the history. It will be better than the gloom and doom and the exchange of vaguely courteous or courteously vague threats.”

Derek’s lips twitched, but he remained silent.

“How is Laura?” Sam ignored Dean in favour of grilling Derek, but it seemed the exact wrong thing to say for before their eyes Derek’s face crumpled. 

“Der...” Sam took a step towards him, concerned. 

Derek looked up, face carefully blank. 

“Laura is dead.” Derek said matter-of-factly and Sam reeled back. 

“What...how,” Sam stammered and Dean could swear he was this close to crying.

“I will,” Derek looked away for a few moments. “I will tell you some other time.” He sighed like he was suddenly very tired.

“I should get going.” 

“Oh...yeah.” Sam nodded. “Nice to meet you, Derek. I really missed you guys after I left.”

Derek looked at Sam and his expression was pure surprise as if it was news to him that somebody could actually miss him. Then he frowned and looked at Dean one last time and threw an honest to goodness glare with all sign of playfulness gone.

“Get help and get out.” Derek gritted out. “Chris doesn’t deserve to go through the death of another family member. Again.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What the actual fuck Derek?” Scott charged even before he could set one foot inside the loft.

“Good evening to you too.” Derek muttered moving aside to let the pack in.

“Dude you could have just listened to me for one time!” Stiles exclaimed, sounding and looking profoundly angry. “Honestly Derek, we thought by now you are past all that alpha-posturing you used to do because, you know, news flash - you are no longer the alpha.”

Derek frowned at Stiles though he felt he should have glared for it was not like Stiles to be intentionally hurtful and even though Derek wouldn’t admit it under torture, Stiles’s last sentence did hurt him. He never thought it was possible to be upset over mere words after being subjected to the choicest insults by the hunters including Kate who had caught and did a number on him on many previous occasions. Apparently Stiles was an exception.

“Stiles,” Lydia’s bored voice cut through his musing. “Let the man speak.” Then she turned her full attention to the werewolf. “He must have reasons why he marched right into the hunters’ safehouse and confronted them, threatening them with dire consequences AFTER agreeing that we need to stay out of picture.”

Derek blinked a few times at her. He had a feeling Lydia was pissed off at him and it was not only for not sticking to plans.

“Hunters who could have killed you in a heartbeat, if I may add.” Stiles quipped plopping down on the couch.

That...oh...ohh! Derek’s forehead unfurled. Stiles was worried about him which made him lash out. That made sense. Derek had known and accepted it for quite sometime that Scott and his pack weren’t indifferent to him even though he had never formally integrated himself into the pack or had agreed Scott to be his alpha. But the feeling was the strongest when Stiles was concerned. His sense had not mistaken when in more than one occasion he had noticed sorrow and concern pour out from the awkward teenager, whom Derek had come to appreciate as a friend and as an ally, whenever Derek had got hurt.

“They haven’t killed me.” Derek pointed out unnecessarily, just for sake of saying something. He was secretly pleased that the pack cared enough but upon his life he would not admit it. It was almost a defence mechanism with him to keep people at an arm’s length and there was no reason for him to break it.

“Brilliant observation. Nobel-worthy.” Stiles hissed sarcastically.

“Will you let go already?” Derek threw his hands in air, thoroughly irritated. He had done what he felt he should have done to ensure the safety of the pack. It was impossible to hide a resident werewolf pack from hunters of the calibre of the Winchesters. If the rumour mill was to be believed they had a fucking angel as their friend and protector.

“No.” Stiles shot back. “For we have dealt with your martyr complex enough already.” He was looking directly ahead of him, like he was too disgusted to even glance in Derek's direction. Well, nothing new there - Derek bitterly thought.

“My...what complex?” He still couldn't help asking, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“The thing that you do to protect others, completely wrong and stupid-ass things...like...like taking on a semi-feral alpha werewolf to save a kid you barely know, like surrendering to a huntress who had a beef with you to save Scott who hated your guts...like turning your back to the kanima to warn me, throwing Isaac out of the loft to keep him safe...entering into a roomful of wolfsbane smoke and taking on a hunter while UNDER the influence of the said smoke to save Scott...to fucking run off to Mexico to take on berserkers and a monster of your personal nightmare when you have NO superpower left -”

Stiles was panting by the time but he looked he was not even halfway finished.

“Stiles.” Derek sighed and dropped into a chair facing Stiles, who was still staring ahead and stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze.

“Hey, will you look at me? Please?” Derek said gently and it was the word ‘please’ that had Stiles’s eyes snapped to him, apparently utterly shocked into speechlessness.

“I am not trying to get myself killed. Chris assured that they follow the code. They wouldn’t have killed me.” Derek went on in the same gentle tone.

Stiles stared at him for a few moments. Then he visibly tried to snap out of it.

“No they wouldn’t. But they could have decided to kidnap you and electrocute you for days or whatever other gruesome methods of torture they use.”

Derek suddenly felt the room had gone quiet and it felt like everybody was holding their breath. Scott, Kira, Malia...everybody was staring at him. Even Liam and Mason had put the TV on mute and were waiting for his reply.

Derek had to actually beat down the urge to scowl and answer with a curt ‘none of your business’. One year ago, he would have done exactly that. He had resolutely avoided doing these for quite sometime now and it gave amazing result. All pack members were more relaxed around him now and they even actively sought him out if they had any supernatural-world related question. Liam even once asked him to help with his history project after he learnt Derek majored in history.

“Stiles,” he sighed instead. “Nothing happened. We talked. I gave them the message. They better stick to it...and if not -” he pressed his lips together grimly without bothering to finish the sentence.

“But you got me so worried.” Stiles stilled as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Derek stared at Stiles, wide-eyed. There was nothing but absolute truth in that sentence going by the kid’s heartbeat.

Scott cleared his throat. “Yeah dude.” He said sheepishly. “Sorry for snapping, but when Chris called and said you were going to confront them I really thought we would have to march down their place soon and launch a rescue mission or something.”

“You didn’t even bother to tell us.” Lydia said accusingly.

“You could have asked me to come with you.” Malia said at the same time.

“Um...” Derek didn’t know whom to answer first. He was truly overwhelmed, but he didn’t really want to show it. The casual affection and concern the entire pack was showing him, a person who was actually an outsider, completely floored him and the secret pleasure he derived from it also came as a surprise.

“So now that we have established how stupid you have been,” Stiles smirked, “why don't you tell us what all you could gather about the famous duo with your wolfie senses.”

...

“Sammy,” Dean hissed. “Will you please tell me?”

“Dude, just leave it, ok?” Sammy passed a hand over his eyes tiredly.

“No. I want to know how my little brother is on nickname basis with a fucking werewolf when he was supposed to take down a power-crazy witch!”

“We just..”

“Werewolf Sammy." Dean gesticulated. "Creatures who turn feral on full moon nights and KILL innocent people and EAT their hearts.”

“Derek and Laura were nothing like that.” Sam retorted.

Sam crossed his arms and looked hard at his brother. “How do you know? Maybe they cleaned up good. Maybe they lied for they apparently knew you were a hunter?”

“Because Derek saved my life OK? And It was a full moon night.” Sam almost yelled at his brother. “I was getting chased by two of Tamara’s cronies and got hit by a nasty spell. I couldn’t move, but I felt everything. They wanted to torture me for information and I knew I was done for that day.”

“What happened?” Dean asked quietly. He didn’t like Sammy was in such a grave danger in New York but had never told him about it. Whenever he used to call, Sam pretended that everything was OK and he would soon re-unite with him. If Dean was not so bogged down by his own assignment he would have rushed to his brother’s side.

Sam was quiet for a few moments. Then he began haltingly “I passed out from the pain. But they poured a bucket of water over my head and I came round immediately. I knew I was inside a warehouse or something but I couldn’t scream or move a single muscle in my body.”

Then he added in a whisper. “I thought I was going to die.”

Dean nodded, not looking at his younger brother, and kept his face carefully blank. Twenty years - and he was still not used to the idea how fragile their existence really was. Even now, with death looming heavy on him, all he could think of was what Sammy would do when he was no more there, watching his back.

“Derek had heard the two witches threatening me. He had called Laura and together they had broken through the door and managed to take them down. The witches were novices and had never seen werewolves before.” Sam said. He was staring far ahead, as if he could see it play out right in front of his eyes.

“They took me to their apartment for I was injured, but I refused to go to the hospital.”

Dean looked up sharply. He could not help feeling shocked. Two werewolves not only helping but actively harbouring a hunter in their own den was unheard of.

“I was delirious and in pain for a couple of days. They took care of me. Laura used to draw away the pain.”

“So when you went offline for a couple of days and later you told me you had gone underground for a few days, you were living with them?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I didn’t know how to explain it without freaking you out.” Sam shrugged. “I didn’t know if you would come barrelling down, thinking they had somehow brainwashed me or something and threaten them with wolfsbane bullets.”

“That I can almost guarantee I would have done.” Dean smirked.

“That’s what I thought.” Sam smiled ruefully. “But they were good kids. Mere teenagers but they just...wanted to do the right thing. They were...so naive, if I can use that word. Their house, their entire family was burned down and they had lost everything for some rogue hunters and here they were rescuing and sheltering a hunter without a second thought.”

“Why would they do that?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Well Derek said something like their mother had taught them how they were predators and not monsters. They were taught by their family and their alpha never to harm a living creature.”

“Not even chasing a bunny up a tree?” Dean’s eyebrows rose.

“Dude, Derek volunteered at homeless shelters and old age homes. Laura had three cats and their favourite pastime was to shred Derek’s socks and he never so much as glared at them.”

Dean felt his world was realigning somewhat.

“And are you sure it was not some kind of ruse to lull you into a false sense of security and they might have some ulterior motive?”

“If they had, they never revealed it. I was with them for a couple of weeks before I left New York, following Tamara. Derek had baked an apple pie and packed it for me for the road and Laura just hugged me tight and told me not to be an idiot.” Sam sighed. “I never contacted them again. I feel like such an ungrateful bastard.”

Dean studied his brother for a few moments.

“Derek Hale didn’t seem like a person who would volunteer at old age homes.”

“I know.” Sam conceded. “He has changed...a lot.”

“So you cannot let your guard down around him.”

“No, we cannot.” Sammy admitted, thought Dean could see it pained him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Monty...do you have a minute?” 

“Querido,” the voice on the other end of the phone chirped cheerfully. “No he visto su durante mucho tiempo.”

“Monty,” Dean sighed, “for the hundredth time, I don’t understand Spanish. No Spanish. No hablo. Capiche?”

“I know,” the voice laughed. “It is your reactions that totally make my day.”

“I am not calling you for your daily dose of entertainment.” Dean grumbled.

“Oh don’t be like that.” Monty chuckled. “I don’t get to meet a lot of cute guys in my line of work. So sue me if you are my favourite.”

“Don’t call me cute.” Dean snapped.

“You are cute. Deal with it.” Monty said with a finality. “Now what do you want? Out with it.”

“I need information.”

“Of course you do darling.” Monty sounded bored. “What are you getting me in exchange?”

“How much do you want?” Dean asked impatiently. He had known Monty for close to ten years and he knew she would not do anything for free. Fortunately, with their history, Monty trusted him enough to give him information before he could make a payment, which he did without fail. The fact that Monty was a compulsive gossip helped for she was a veritable warehouse of useless pieces of information as far as the supernatural world was concerned.

“First tell me what is this information about.” Monty said.

“Derek Hale.”

“Hale? From Beacon Hills? California?” Monty’s voice was suddenly alert.

“Y-yes.” Dean stammered a little. He didn’t think he would get such prompt answers.

“Hales are...werewolves. They are famous, legendary even.” Monty’s voice rose in excitement. “They are in full control of their animal side. So we usually leave them alone.”

“Have you heard of Derek Hale in particular?” Dean asked.

“I will get back to you on that.” Monty said. “Just give me five minutes. Araya had been to Beacon Hills sometime back. She doesn’t like me but her right hand man is more disposed to bragging.”

The line was disconnected and Dean actually sat staring at the phone for the next fifteen minutes. Dean didn’t know what to make of the Hales. They might be all peace-loving and tree-hugging, model citizen-type wolves (though Dean didn’t know such type of werewolves exist), but they were now dead and gone, as per the version Sam had heard from the Hale siblings. The sister is also mysteriously killed. So, that left them only with one Hale.

This one Hale thoughtlessly dropped for a visit at the apartment of a couple of people who happened to hunt his kind. 

He seemed to be on the first-name basis with Uncle Chris who, before he lost his daughter, was one of the most feared hunters in this continent.

He didn’t shift when Dean had pulled the knife on him...but remained deadly calm (Dean mentally underlined the word ‘deadly’).

Finally he had threatened them in not so subtle manners.

His phone rang, jolting him out of his reverie.

“Yes Monty.”

“Get away from him.” Monty sounded breathless. “Whatever you do, don’t try to engage him. Don’t have anything to do with him. If you are in Beacon Hills, leave.”

“Monty, calm down!” Dean had to yell into the phone to get her to stop. “You are a Calavera. How come you are so afraid of him!”

“Derek Hale is bad news!” Monty said matter-of-factly. 

Dean sucked in a breath. He knew as much.

“Everybody dies around him, but he seems to have a charmed existence. A lot of people have tried to kill him and failed, even though he is an omega wolf with no pack.”

“He has a pack.” Dean argued. “Or he would have us believe he has one.”

“Very less is actually known about Derek Hale. He is kind of a mystery even in the werewolf community. But there are terrible rumours. About his family’s death, his uncle...his sister...” Monty trailed off.

“Do you think Derek Hale is dangerous?” Dean asked.

“Beyond a shadow of doubt.” Monty said. “So I am not charging you anything with this piece of information.”

Dean started to protest.

“No Dean.” Monty smiled. “I like you alive and while I don’t doubt your ability, there are some creatures that are best left alone. Even Araya is wary of Derek Hale. So please don’t be stupid. Leave Beacon Hills to its own devices and go catch some demons or something.”

Dean should feel insulted at Monty’s lack of trust in him, but he knew she meant well.

“I am not leaving Beacon Hills for some crazy werewolf Monty and you know that.”

“You should.” Monty sounded serious. “And Derek Hale is not crazy.”

“So what is he then?” Dean asked.

“Derek Hale is a killer.” Monty said somewhat breathlessly. “And you are not, no matter how tough you act.”

“Good bye Monty,” Dean sighed and hung up.

For a few minutes he had completely forgotten about his Mark, the real reason he had come to Beacon Hills in the first place. Suddenly it came crushing back.  


Dean knew he was dying and if they didn’t find a cure anytime soon, he was doomed, quite literally. Uncle Chris and his extensive knowledge and his library full of books on supernatural were his only hope.

But he could let some steam off by ridding the world of a monster, Dean idly thought.

First, he would have to establish Derek Hale was indeed a killer and Dean didn’t think that would take much effort at all.

...

Dean already had his finger on the buzzer when they heard the gunshot even when it came muffled. To an untrained ear it could sound like anything, a tyre punctured nearby or a firecracker going off somewhere in the distance, but to Sam and Dean it was pretty obvious.

The brothers looked at each other and in a moment they were breaking down the door. At least their handgun had the silencer on and so it didn’t alarm the neighbours when Dean took a shot at the door lock.

To say they were not prepared for the scene in front of them was an understatement, but it was a testament to the fact how great their reflexes had become after fighting with the supernatural for such a long time that Dean didn’t even bat an eyelid to take aim and shoot again. He wanted to aim for the head for it would have made it impossible to heal and the death would have been instantaneous. Dean didn’t know what prompted him to shoot at his heart instead.

While Dean was fast, the werewolf was faster but instead of moving away from the trajectory of the bullet he had stupidly stood his ground with his palm stretched outward, as if it would stop the bullet by some magic voodoo. However the bullet changed its course slightly as it went straight through his palm and lodged itself in his chest.

Derek Hale slumped forward, revealing a shocked Chris Argent standing behind him, his body hitting the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

Derek’s left hand was still clutching the Beretta M9.

For a second or two nobody moved and there was no sound except for Derek’s laboured breathing.

“D...Derek!” Sam was the first to snap out of it.

“Why the hell did you do that for?” Chris shouted at Dean.

Dean looked at Chris defiantly. “Saving your ass old man. We heard the gunshot.”

“Why do you think a werewolf will use a gun to kill a hunter!” Chris looked like he was on the verge of plucking his hair out in frustration.

Only now Dean noticed the bottle of whiskey he was clutching with his left hand, seemingly forgotten, and how Chris was swaying to and fro like a reed in the wind.

Sam knelt down on the ground before Derek’s body sprawled on his stomach and slipped a couple of fingers at the base of his throat.

“Dean...he has no pulse.” Sam looked back at Dean worriedly.


	5. Chapter 5

Ashen. Lifeless. Beautiful.

Dean still had his Smith & Wesson clutched tightly in his right hand, but he could not tear his eyes away from the severe contours of the jaw lightly dusted with dark stubble, the slightly bluish tint under the eyes, the thick dark lashes spread out like an exquisite fan over the expanse of the high cheekbones and the strands of hair plastered on the alabaster brow. And his eyes roved down...to the hollow of the throat, exposed and vulnerable, the lean muscles on the bare torso, the pecs, covered with a fine sheen of sweat...

And finally his gaze rested on the ugly hole in the middle of his chest with black veins radiating towards every direction.

It was a monster whose body was spread out on the wooden dining table, but then why Dean had this insane urge to cover the body with his own, cradling the pale, still boy, protecting him from the harsh glare of the overhead light? Why did the bullet wound make his innards twist in something pretty akin to guilt? Why did it look so undeserving?

“Nonononono...” Dean looked on, almost hypnotised as Chris was chanting under his breath while he was trying to re-arrange Derek’s body on the table, which was not easy for he was too big for it and his legs were left dangling. Chris was touching Derek’s face, his hair, his shoulders trying to wake the younger man up and it was pretty heartbreaking to watch.

“Get up, God damn it.” Chris hissed. “It was supposed to be me.”

“Chris,” Sam touched Chris’s arms gently.

“I feel the pulse. It is almost non-existent, but it is there.” Chris looked at Sam hopefully. 

“Ok,” Sam cast a glance towards Dean who was staring at Derek, his face completely impassive. Sam was only too aware of this face. It meant Dean was having an internal panic attack.

Well, the way the older hunter reacted, they had reasons to panic. He had cleared off the contents on his antique dining table with one sweep of hands, not bothering to pause even as the expensive-looking crystal bowl fell down on the floor and shattered into a million little pieces. Then he had barked orders at Sam to help him haul Derek up and lay him down on the table. He had then proceeded on to produce a knife from his boot and tear away Derek’s t-shirt to reveal a bullet wound that clearly indicated a shattered breast bone. Derek was bleeding heavily from both the nose and the mouth - a solid proof that his heart was probably punctured and on top of everything the bullet was laced with wolfsbane. There was very little chance of the werewolf surviving this.

Chris had whipped out his phone and described the situation calmly and clinically to somebody called Deaton and had hung up only to fuss over Derek who for all the world looked dead.

“Dean you bet -” 

Sam had no time to finish the sentence before someone crashed into the room.

Sam and Dean both whirled round on the person picking himself up with some effort from the floor. Even before they had even taken a good look at the teen, they knew he was human, but the other three, one boy and two girls, who entered the room a bit less theatrically were emphatically not human.

“Oh God...no!” The girl with long dark hair exclaimed, hands clamped to her mouth.

“Derek...” The teen who had fallen down face-first rushed to the table. “...the hell!” He took one look at the pale form on the table and rounded up on the two brothers.

“Stiles...wait...” One of the three kids frozen at the doorway, a dark-haired boy with soft brown eyes jumped forward and quickly wrapped his arms around the first boy who looked like he was about to lunge towards them.

“Fucking hunters...I am going to kill you...” The boy, Stiles, spluttered at them. His friend just kept on holding him, trying to still his flailing.

“Stiles, stop. We need to help Derek first.”

“But Scott...look at him!” Stiles stopped struggling and pointed at Derek. It was an unnecessary gesture for everybody was already staring.

“The bullet, Chris, quick.” Scott said urgently.

“They are in the garage.” Chris said and he sounded like he was 100% sobered up in the last few minutes. “I will go and get them.”

“No need,” the petite strawberry-blonde girl with a terrifying glint in her eyes spoke up. She looked like a porcelain doll, but Dean knew otherwise. His Mark was itching like crazy and he knew whatever this crowd of adorable-looking teenagers was, they were hardly human.

“These two would have them.”

She marched straight at Dean who was still holding the incriminating gun in his hand.

“Hand me over a couple of bullets.” She held out her palm in front of Dean.

“Why would I save a monster?” Dean lifted up his chin, even as an uneasy feeling of dread curled inside his stomach and it was not because he felt threatened.  


Not in the least!

The girl looked like she had a good mind to slap him, but she just wiggled her fingers, not taking her eyes off him.

“Dude...just give her the bullets.” Sam whispered to him.

Dean glared at his brother.

“He was trying to kill Uncle Chris.”

“No you moron.” Chris interjected. “I tried to shoot myself and he just saved my life!”

“But -”

“Just give Lydia the Goddamn bullets Dean or help me God -”

“OK,” Dean yelled back and scooped out a couple of bullets from the inside pocket of his jacket to hand it over to the red-head, Lydia.

“Better be quick Lyds...he is...” The first boy, Stiles let out a choked sob and took Derek’s hand into his.

“I am trying.” Lydia snapped.

The two brothers watched fascinated as she methodically broke the bullets open and poured the wolfsbane powder inside the bullet on the floor to make a small heap. 

“Fire.” She barked at Stiles.

The boy called Scott shoved a hand into Derek’s jeans pocket, fished up a lighter and threw it to Lydia. She lighted up the powder which turned into ashes within seconds. Then she proceeded to scoop up some powder and rose to her feet. 

“Hold him still.” She ordered and there were four pairs of hands holding Derek down, though the brothers didn’t understand why for he was absolutely still, that is until the grey powder was shoved into the hole in his chest and he started to heave against their hold.

Derek’s body arched upward towards the ceiling and an almost inhuman scream tore through him. He started thrashing like a man possessed and three men, two humans and a supernatural had difficulty in pinning him down. 

And it was wrong...so wrong! Those cries grated on Dean’s nerves and that was saying something for he had been to fucking inferno and back and he had experienced the sounds made by the tortured souls. But there was something in the strange werewolf, the lines of his body, the timbre of his voice, even the way the eyes squeezing painfully, crinkling at the corner...it was making Dean’s blood run cold.

“Wh-what is happening to him?” Dean asked dazedly.

Lydia’s lips were pressed into a grim line. She then proceeded to apply the ashes to Derek’s palm and another round of screaming and thrashing ensued.

“Stop...you are...hurting him.” Dean didn’t know where that came from and he knew it was not a good idea as soon as it came out of his mouth when six pairs of eyes including his own brother turned to look at him, their expressions ranging from bewilderment to murderous rage.

“Listen you piece of shit,” the kid called Stiles (whatever the hell that was) glared at him. “You did it to him. Just shut the fuck up and let us try to deal with it.”

“And God help you if he doesn’t make it.” The red-head said lowly. She had her eyes fixed on Derek, but her soft whisper was somehow more threatening than the combined glare from the two boys. “Though I think for this once, you are in luck.”

Dean stared at Derek again and felt his breath caught in his throat. The hole in the middle of his chest was gone as well as the tell-tale sign of poisoning and the vast expanse of the skin was perfect again except for the blood smeared on it.

Chris wiped the blood off him with Derek’s shirt, which was already ruined, carefully and gently, like he was something fragile.

“Derek...buddy,” Stiles’s voice broke a little and he held a fist to his mouth. “Wake up. You are good to go. Brand new again. Come on.”

No response.

“What did we do wrong?” Stiles’s eyes were huge and he looked at his dark-haired friend helplessly. “Why is he not waking up?”

“I still feel the beginning of a scream building in my throat.” Lydia said.

“Is that why you were so fast?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.” Lydia chewed her lip worriedly. “First I saw you and then it changed abruptly. I saw Derek lying cold on a metal table...in a morgue.”

What the hell! She was a fucking banshee? Sam and Dean were gaping at her for they were yet to meet a banshee in flesh.

“Lyds...” Stiles choked up. The dark-haired girl was openly sobbing now. Scott wrapped a hand around her shoulders in a comforting gesture, though he was looking this close to crying himself.

“Come on Derek.” Scott whispered hoarsely. “Not like this. Not after what we went through....”

“Tell Deaton to hurry the hell up.” Lydia spoke up. “Something is wrong.”

Dean cleared his throat.

The three friends glared at him.

“Maybe I can help?” Dean didn’t really know what possessed him to say it. Even if he had shot Derek mistakenly, he was no doubt a dangerous being and he had every right to be wary, especially after the alarming information he received about him. Accidents happened in the fight with the supernatural and a lot of lesser evil had died in the crossfire.

Somehow Derek, lying there, perfect as a marble statue, not breathing...didn’t quite sit right with him. Somewhere deep in the core of his being, Dean felt he had made a terrible mistake and he recoiled from the consequence.

“Don’t you think you have done enough already?” Lydia raised a judgemental brow at him. In spite of her calm demeanour, Dean could see her cracking and it somehow sealed the deal.

No matter what Monty had told him, no matter what his better judgement held true, there were five people including a hunter who were visibly shaken by the prospect of the death of a werewolf, a lot of concern shown for a packless omega.

“Look I am really sorry.” Dean started.

Stiles snorted, Scott’s eyes flashed scarlet and oooookay...the alpha Derek had been talking about was right there.

“I didn’t know ok?” Dean’s voice raised a bit. “We heard the gunshot and we broke down the door to see Chris wrestling with....him, over a handgun.”

“And you took the shot without bothering to give him the benefit of doubt.” Chris said incredulously.

“Why should I?” Dean argued. “In my experience werewolves hurt people and I had no reason to believe otherwise.”

“Chris, could you please clarify what the hell happened here?” Scott asked Chris with an easy familiarity that shocked the two brothers.

Chris was silent for a few moments with his head bowed down.

“I was going through her stuff...when I found a letter...from Allison. She wrote it to apologize for her behaviour after Victoria’s death. She wanted me to know she would never do anything again that would make me ashamed of her for she couldn’t bear to meet my eyes after she shot Erica and Boyd repeatedly even after they were down.”

Scott inhaled sharply. The dark-haired girl hugged him from behind and he leaned into her bonelessly.

“Oh God...today was the day!” Lydia exclaimed. “We are so sorry Chris. We should have been here.”

“Derek called me and I told him not to bother.” Chris’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He told me he was coming anyway and that he would drive me to the cemetery. I told him to fuck off and that it was not his business, but he had already hung up.”

“Then I read the letter again and again and I was drunk and I was stupid and there was this gun in my hand at some point.”

“You should have shot me instead.” Stiles said suddenly, his eyes still fixed on Derek’s face. “It was I who killed her.”

“No,” Chris sobbed brokenly. “She died saving her friends and taught me what courage is. But I was a coward and tried to take the easy way out.”

“You were in pain.” Scott placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder gently. 

It looked surreal to the brothers. It was their uncle in front of them, a blood relation, and he was talking about the death of their cousin whom they had never seen, but had heard a lot about. They should have been the ones consoling him, but there were these strangers instead, who surrounded him with a cocoon of warmth. 

“I could hear Derek crashing through the window. I guess he heard the sound of racking the gun from the road and just leapt onto the balcony. I pulled the trigger, but Derek was already there...” Chris trailed off, looking crestfallen.

Dean’s heart sank. He now knew why Derek didn’t move away even when he could have dodged the bullet with his superhuman reflexes. He was shielding Chris with his body. He didn’t want the bullet meant for him to hit Chris!

“I am calling Cas.” He declared. “We are going to save him.”

The entire room became silent again.

“Who the hell is Cas?” Stiles frowned.

“Castiel is an angel.” Sam said, casting a dubious look at Dean, “though I don’t know if he can help us.”

“He has to.” Dean shook his head. He was still staring fixedly at Derek. He couldn’t entertain any other possibility.

“Dean. He has lost most of him grace. He is almost human.” Sam croaked.

“I must try.” Dean said doggedly.

“Try what?” Another figure had just joined the medley of Derek’s pack. The new person was around Chris’s age and appeared to be the calmest person in the room at that moment.

“Derek is not responding even after the wolfsbane is out of him system.” Lydia sighed. “These hunters want to consult an angel.”

“It is true then.” The new guy turned on Dean and Sam, smiling in a vaguely mysterious way, like he knew some secret they had no way of knowing. “The famous Winchester brothers have an angel for a friend.”

“Friend? Try babysitter.” Dean snorted under his breath.

“I really take offence to your comparing me repeatedly to an infant while I am an adult person capable of rationalisation and intellectual depths.”

Everybody froze in their spot while Stiles let out an undignified squeak.

Castiel took his surroundings serenely and settled on staring at Dean, unblinkingly.

“Give a guy some warning, ok?” Dean placed a hand over his heart and tried to calm his breathing.

Castiel cocked his head. 

“You are worried. Why are you so worried? I cannot see any life-threatening situation unfolding here.”

“Cas,” Dean took a deep breath and pointed towards Derek. “I may have made a huge mistake. Can you...can you help him?”

Castiel searched into Dean’s face for a few seconds and went over to the table where Derek’s body was laid. He stared at Derek’s face for what seemed like an eternity.

“Can you fix him?” Scott, the dark-haired kid broke the uneasy silence. “Please?”

Castiel glanced towards Dean and went back staring at Derek.

Derek’s pack looked like they were waiting with their hearts in their mouth. Castiel reached out and touched Derek’s forehead with two fingers. He briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them, he had a faraway look in his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly. He didn’t know the verdict yet and he was already nervous. Dean didn’t really understand what was happening to him. He had been literally through hell and back and he had been in worse situation than this. At least neither his not Sam’s life was under threat as brilliantly pointed out by Castiel and they were not about to meet some horrible torture or death, at least for now. Still, Dean felt a crippling fear snaking up his spine.

Castiel heaved a sigh.

“He is not here any more.”

“What?” The room burst out with shocked exclamations.

“He has a pulse. His heart is still beating. What do you mean he is not here any more?” Scott almost yelled at Castiel.

“He has healed physically, yes.” Castiel nodded, looking at Scott thoughtfully. “But his soul is trapped. Or probably he doesn’t want to come back to his body. Anyhow, he is now just a body devoid of his soul. I don’t think he is waking up. Sorry Dean.” The last part of the sentence was addressed to Dean who was already shaking his head in violent denial.

“Cas, Cas listen to me....you must find...God damn it!” Dean strode forward and grabbed Castiel by his arms. “I want you, no scratch that, I need you to tell me how to bring him back. It is my fault. I NEED to make it right.”

“Ow.” Cas said, looking pointedly at Deans hands. Dean released him instantly, noticing how his fingernails were digging into Castiel’s arms.

“Cas, how fast are you losing your grace?” Sam asked worriedly.

“Pretty fast.” Said Castiel in the same stoical tone he used when he talked about something bad happening to him.

“Therefore Dean must understand I cannot help him. I don’t have the power any more. I barely had the power to appear into this room and now I will probably be completely human for a few days before I could try to use my power.”

“We don’t have a few days.” It was the boy, Stiles who spoke this time. Given the fact he was a human teenager in a room full of supernatural creatures and people who hunt supernatural creatures, he was remarkably unafraid. Even though his eyes were red from crying he held his chin up, defiantly, and he seemed like he was ready to take on anybody who would tell him that it was too late.

“Well, sorry for interrupting.” The dark-skinned man addressed Castiel directly. “Can you at least tell us where he is or how to reach him, if there is at all any chance to reach him?”

“That I can do.” Castiel nodded gravely. “He is with Hades.”

“The Greek god of the dead?” The red-headed banshee girl screeched.

“The very same.” Castiel nodded.

Dean suddenly found it difficult to breath. This was just wonderful. He had come to Beacon Hills seeking shelter, licking his chops, like a wounded animal, and probably to die in peace. And now in his stubbornness he had taken a life which going by the reaction of the people in this room was well-loved and was if not entirely innocent, not exactly evil either. Dean was suddenly jealous of the werewolf. His friends would miss him and mourn him if he died, but Dean would have nobody but Sam and probably Castiel to be present at his funeral.

“Is there any way we can bring him back?” Dean asked Castiel.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Castiel answered levelly. “Hades is not a cruel god, but he is jealous about people he claims to be his. He guards his gates closely and once somebody enters into it, there is little possibility of his coming out.”

“We would still like to know how.” Stiles said. His face was set in a fierce determination and Dean suddenly felt a pang knowing this kind of innocent, utterly unreasonable devotion is usually directed to somebody who is more than a friend and in this life he was not going to be subjected to this kind of love ever. 

“I think there might be a way.” Castiel said hesitantly, “but it is way too dangerous.”

“Go on.” Stiles said squarely. Dean would have taken him to be a sidekick to his alpha friend, but it seemed he held a more important position than that if the alpha let him speak on his behalf.

“You cannot visit the underworld in your physical form.” Castiel explained. “But your soul is free to roam, if you can find a way to detach it from your body.”

“And that doesn’t sound creepy at all.” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Hypothetically, say we are able to do that.” Lydia said, “how can we reach the underworld and how the hell can we find Derek?”

“Do you even know what it means for your souls to roam free of your body?” Sam asked incredulously. “You are just a bunch of teenagers. You don’t have any idea.”

“Oh but we have.” Scott said. “Trust us when we say we got it covered.”

“I think we better remove Derek to my clinic and it would be great if you kindly accompany us.” Deaton interjected. “Your angel friend can explain how to go about it on the way?” He addressed Dean and made the statement sound like a question.

“Ok,” Dean nodded dumbly. He didn’t know where the clinic was but he guessed it was a safe shelter for the pack. It occurred to him he was taking a risk trusting a pack of werewolves whom he had met barely a few minutes back and who were not very kindly disposed towards him at this very moment. But there was something about this bunch of kids that made him want to let his guard down, which went against his every instinct.

“Ok,” he said more forcefully this time, looking over at the still form of the werewolf again.

He couldn’t help shake the feelings he had set something monumental in motion...but there was no escape from it now.


	6. Chapter 6

“Why are you looking so lost?” 

Derek spun around and saw a man sitting on the garden swing staring at him intently. Derek was on his guard immediately for he hadn’t heard anything before the man had spoken up. But then he was really caught up with what was in front of him rather than watching his surroundings.

On waking up or getting out of whatever trance he had been into, Derek had found himself running through the familiar trails of Beacon Hills Preserve. His feet had automatically taken him to his house and he had gasped at the sight for he was looking at an intact Hale house and not the burnt out shell of it. Even the garden was there along with the rose bed and the white picket fence.

And he could hear the voices of his dead family inside, like he had been by some miracle, time-traveled right before the day the fire occurred. 

It was not real and he knew it!

“Who are you?” Derek decided to confront the man first. 

The man had a ruggedly handsome face with dark hair and startling blue eyes and a jawline that could rival Derek’s. Only this man had a square face and was even bulkier than him and when he rose to his full height Derek realised he had a good few inches over Derek, which essentially made him nothing short of a giant. He was dressed quite stylishly in a double-breasted charcoal overcoat, white button down, a scarlet tie and fancy dress shoes. It complemented his muscular physique well. 

Derek narrowed his eyes, assessing the man, immediately pegging him as a threat, which had by now become a second nature. It was the expression on his face though that caught Derek off-guard.

It was perfectly serene, self assured, but not cocky. It was like he knew he wielded absolute power over everything and that there could be nothing that could threaten him. 

“I asked you first.” The man said, cocking his head.

“Where am I?” Derek pressed on with more questions. He had a gut feeling this man had all the answers this situation presented. “It is not a real house isn’t it? It is some sort of a set-up.”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

Derek really didn’t have time for this shit. He was going out of his mind. The last thing he remembered driving to Chris’s place as he had a bad feeling about letting him alone the day his daughter was murdered by the Oni. Wait, he remembered arriving at his place and the sound of the gun racking which made him throw all caution to the wind and jump through his window and then...

Derek had blanked out after that. He looked about him wildly. He needed to call somebody to check on Chris. Once they had buried their hatchets Derek had come to an understanding with the elder hunter to the point that he had become an ally, more than an ally in fact, a friend, about whom Derek cared a great deal. Chris visited his loft with a crate of beer when on certain days Derek would shut himself off, not answering calls from his pack-mates even. They would sit in silence, mourning each other’s losses privately, taking occasional swigs at the beer. Chris knew how it felt to remember birthdays and anniversaries of people who were no longer there to celebrate it. Derek on the other hand would turn up at the bar late at night to carry a drunk and completely passed out Chris back to his home, tucking him into his bed. 

There was one time Chris was semi-conscious and he spoke up when Derek was about to leave the room.

“If I had a son,” he had slurred, “I would have liked him to grow up to be like you.”

Derek had frozen and looked back at the man looking at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“To be broken and damaged, like me?” Derek couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice.

“No,” Chris had stared back at him more steadily. “Ready to carry the burden of the entire world silently and stoically, even though your own cross is too heavy to bear.”

“You are supposed to be drunk.” Derek had complained. “You are not even supposed to be coherent.”

“Yeah. Why else do you think I have anything good to say about you?” Chris had retorted. “Now go and let me sleep it off.”

So he had just nodded sharply for he couldn’t trust to use his voice because of a sudden lump in his throat and left without a word. 

“Why are you so worried wolf?” Derek shook himself out of his trance. 

God he was standing in the middle of an unknown territory and zoning out! 

“You tell me.” Derek challenged. He didn’t let it faze him that the man evidently knew he was a werewolf but he seemed neither afraid nor too wary. If he were a hunter he would at least be in a defensive posture. Above all Derek couldn’t smell wolfsbane or gunpowder on him. 

“Well I can tell you a lot of things, but I cannot read your mind. That is outside my power.” The man said matter-of-factly. “So here we go again - why are you looking lost when you are standing right in front of your home?”

“Because it is not my home.” Derek said in a monotone. 

The man continued looking at him curiously.

Derek heaved a sigh and stared right into the stranger's eyes. “It is all an illusion isn’t it?” 

“Why is it that you humans are never pleased when you are dropped into the exact place you always dream to be?” The man said in a bored voice. “I really don’t understand your breed.”

Derek let his claws extend. “I am not human.”

The man merely looked at his hands with one raised eyebrow. “As you have probably already gathered, neither am I.”

“So that brings us to the question again...who ARE you?” Derek retorted.

“I am called by many names.” The man replied. 

“One will suffice.” Derek said drily.

“You were a history major, weren’t you? So you would know the Hellenic myth about the oldest son of Kronos?”

Derek stared at him in bewildered silence for almost half a minute before stuttering out, “You are not Hades and I have NOT landed up in the fucking underworld!”

When the man continued to stare at him Derek blinked and really noticed his surrounding using all his senses and then he knew it...for nothing smelt like it should have and it was like what he was seeing and what he could sense through his olfactory and other senses were completely at odds. Earth, rocks... minerals - Derek sniffed the air. It didn’t even smell like a forest even though he was standing in the middle of it.

“I am in the underworld!” Derek stated with his eyes going wide.

“Congratulations.” The man, the god, Hades, whatever, said wryly. 

“So, what with the welcoming committee?” Derek asked resignedly. “Are you going to give me a guided tour or what?”

“Actually I wanted to see you after you finally landed up here for there were so many times you almost did that I have lost count.” Hades clarified. “Also, I sort of promised your family to bring you to them once you are here. There are places in underworld where you can get hopelessly lost and never get to see another soul again.” The god smiled and it was a tad bit on the menacing side. 

Derek who used his stern looks to intimidate others and took pride in how he could make a man piss in his pants by his downright wolfish grin was man enough to admit the smile sent chills down his spine. He knew he had every reason to be scared, well who was he kidding, not scared but fucking terrified of the handsome, blue-eyed man holding a civil discussion with him.

He took his time to process the off-hand remark about his family. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. No, hoping was not his thing for it led to despairing. He had too many hopes shattered cruelly and painfully around him and it fucking hurt each time, ok?

“You don’t believe me, do you?” The god raised a knowing eyebrow.

“About why the god of the underworld will take a personal interest in me?” Derek drawled. “Or why he would promise anything to my DEAD family? Yes I can totally see that happening.”

The god, Hades, took a couple of steps towards the house.

“Why don’t you let me re-introduce you, to your family I mean.” He said, ignoring the sarcasm.

Derek’s eyebrow scrunched up. Nothing good ever happened to him, especially when people took an interest in him, or his family, even though they are dead. And the fact he was in the underworld meant he was dead too.

The memory hit him like a car crash.

He could suddenly remember with a blazing clarity the hunter, Winchester, pointing a gun at him and shooting and how he blocked Chris with his body without thinking though subconsciously he knew the bullet was meant for him. He dared not move an inch from the spot hence it accidentally hit Chris.

The bullet had torn a hole through his palm and then before he knew anything his chest had burst open. The pain was nothing he had ever experienced at least on the physical level and he had briefly passed out. But he had woken up once for a few seconds and through the haze of unbearable agony had seen Stiles hovering worriedly by his side, clutching his hand tightly, cheeks wet with tears, calling out his name desperately...

That was probably the only thing that almost made him want to hold back, but Stiles was never meant to be his. He was too good and too innocent and too precious to be ended up with a monster like him, for deny it as he might, that was exactly what he was. Who else would be able to slash the throat of his own uncle in cold-blood even if he was a raging lunatic? Who else would be tearing the head off a certain hunter-turned-werejaguar even though she had been his personal nightmare for years?

He was done with everything. The True Alpha and his pack watched over Beacon Hills, the territory protected by the blood and sweat of the Hales for generations. It was time to move on for Derek was tired ALL the time. He was only twenty four and he felt ancient and he didn’t think he had anything else to contribute to the pack.

He was only a hanger on.

An omega without a pack whom the resident pack barely tolerated for he was a useful source of information. If they were somewhat fond of him it still meant nothing. Hell, people grow fond of stray dogs if they spend time around it.

So he had let go, unconsciously or not he couldn’t tell.

And then he had died. Probably. He didn’t remember that, but how else would he land up in the underworld!

“Do you not want to meet your family, wolf?” Hades looked back at him. “I was under the impression you would be eager to meet them.”

Derek looked at the house, conflicted. He didn’t know what the catch was (and he was so sure there was a catch), but he could hear the sounds coming from the inside of his house that reminded him painfully of his family. He could clearly hear his cousins playing inside, pots clanging in the kitchen, like somebody was making dinner, the bits and pieces of voices, aunt Rose, Eric, Emily...his father...Derek closed his eyes. It was physically painful for him to stand rooted to the spot and listen to them. There was no heartbeat of course for they were dead, another reminder of his long string of misdeeds, another reason why he deserved to die and not be in love and happy and carefree, another reason he had no right to smile or laugh or steal happiness for that is how he constantly felt, like a thief, especially when he was the one who survived when his two month old cousin did not.

Finally he heard her mother and his breathing hitched. She was yelling at Eric or at one of his young cousins not to wolf out inside the house and to chew on the leg of the dining table, again.

Eric was only six and Derek was his favourite person in the world.

Derek’s knees buckled on its own accord and he fell on the ground like a puppet with his strings cut, barely registering the god making an impatient sound at the back of his throat.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it, again.

He simply couldn’t.

A hand cupped his chin and Derek didn’t even flinch back, like he normally did, when somebody touched him suddenly.

“Don’t cry,” a soft voice said. “Hush...child. Don’t cry.”

Derek’s eyes snapped open and he gasped for standing in front of him cradling his face gently was the most ethereally beautiful being he had ever seen.

She had long dark hair falling in loose curls all around her that reached her waist and she had skin like a porcelain doll, except for it looked infinitely soft, like rose petals and she had the most mesmerising shade of green eyes that glittered like emeralds. She was wearing a beautiful white robe that clung to her curves and she smelled divine...like the rich, heady smell of spring.

She smiled down at him as she lightly brushed his tears away with long delicate fingers.

Derek gaped at her in awe.

Nobody had ever wiped his tears away like that after his mother.

Nobody had even seen him in tears, not even Laura. Especially Laura, for he was careful not to cry around her, for he knew that unlike her, he didn’t deserve to grieve. Laura would wail into his chest, clutching him like a life-line when something happened that triggered their memory or when she woke up from a nightmare. Derek’s throat would close up and his eyes would burn, but with supreme willpower he would chase the tears away, rubbing soothing circles on her back as his grip tightened around his sister. He would want to howl, to scream his lungs off until he had no voice left, but he wouldn’t even let out a stray tear for the world to see. That was his penance for what he had done.

But after he failed to save Laura and had to bury his sister with bare hands, he had let go of his grief. He had cried almost every night to sleep, and if he hadn’t, he would wake up in the middle of the night, crying, for he would always dream of things that would make him want to throw up...even the good dreams...especially the good ones!

And now as the woman looked at him with sorrow and compassion, it was like a dam breached and Derek hiccuped into her hands as more tears followed from the depths of his broken soul.

The woman fell to her knees in front of him, disregarding how the action soiled her pristine dress. She was tiny compared to Derek, but she somehow managed to enfold him into a hug. Derek let his head fall into her shoulder as she rubbed his back murmuring lowly, rocking him like a child and Derek felt like a child to her, utterly lost and young and she seemed so...ageless and all-knowing and all-encompassing, with her smell soothing his senses in a way his mother’s used to.

“Shhh...child. It is ok. You did ok...they are all so proud of you. They know it was not your fault...it was never your fault.” She kept on murmuring a steady stream of soothing words in a voice more melodic than the quiet murmurs of a stream.

“How touching!”

Derek’s head jerked up again to see the god, Hades looking down at them with a disapproving frown.

“Now if you have had your little meltdown wolf, you would kindly step into the house -”

“Have you even told him the consequence if he does so?” The woman still had a hand on Derek’s shoulder as she eyed Hades with evident distaste.

“It is none of your business.” Hades turned on her with a snarl.

Derek was on his feet in a flash, pushing himself between the woman who was still on his knees and the god who was standing with arms across his chest.

“Don’t.talk.to.her.like.that.” He growled.

Hades looked at Derek like he had lost his mind.

“I would talk to my wife in whatever manner I like.”

“Wife...” Derek looked down at the woman who rose to her feet slowly. “Persephone?”

“The very same.” She smiled indulgently at Derek. “And don’t mind my husband. He has terrible manners. He isn’t used to hold conversation like a normal person except menacing the hell out of them.”

“If we have finished analysing my manners, can we proceed with the task at hand?” Hades said impatiently.

“Wait...what consequence is she talking about?” Derek asked Hades.

“I offer you your family, the very one that you lost. That is all you have to know.” The god stated haughtily.

Derek looked at Persephone and she was looking at her husband with a small frown between her brows. 

If there wasn’t any other proof that they were indeed not mere mortals, the fact that Derek couldn’t read any emotions on either of them should have been an indication. 

Derek shook his head, crossing his arms, unconsciously mirroring the god’s stance.

“I would like to know the catch before I agree to do anything.”

“You are aware I can banish you to the least enjoyable place in the underworld for all eternity, right?” Hades raised an eyebrow at him.

“Except for that you had promised Talia -” Persephone interceded.

“You stay out of this.” Hades said irritably and Derek growled low in his throat at his tone.

Hades threw an exasperated glance into his direction. “Now you have got a pet wolf on top of everything.”

Derek’s eyes flashed and he took a step towards Hades. God or no god, he wouldn’t let anybody call him an animal at his face, but Persephone quickly moved and placed a hand on his chest, calming him down almost immediately.

“He is half wolf and half man, more than a wolf and more than a man and he knows to be proud of it.” She looked at her husband pointedly. “Don’t underestimate the affection of a creature like him for he is stronger than both a man and a wolf and is certainly a better specimen than both.”

Derek didn’t even bristle at the use of the word ‘creature’ for he was certainly not human and he was amazed how her definition of a werewolf was so close to what his mother taught him about werewolves when he used to complain about being a werewolf and not a normal human being instead.

“You knew my mom?” Derek asked Persephone. 

“I know your mother,” Persephone corrected him gently. “But for some stupid reason I would not be able to help you in your choice here.”

“But how can I choose when he would not elaborate anything about the consequence?” Derek jerked his chin towards Hades.

“I already told you.” Hades huffed. “I give you two choices - either you enter into the house and live with your family for all eternity or you may choose to be exiled to a place not so pleasant, again for all eternity.”

“Jeez that is so nice of you.” Derek snarked. “And it doesn’t at all sound like you are trying to desperately make me choose one option over the other.”

Persephone actually laughed and Derek and Hades turned to stare at her, Derek a little bit dumb-struck and the husband incensed.

“Sorry love.” Persephone said, still chuckling, “you have become used to snapping your finger and people obeying you. You have forgotten how the children of Luna are different. They don’t bow down to gods easily for their respect is to be earned and not to be demanded and certainly not to be threatened out of them.”

“Children of Luna?” Derek asked her, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.

“That is probably a discussion for another day.” Persephone replied. “As of now, I cannot intervene, much, into my husband’s affair or even warn you directly about any consequence.”

“And still that doesn’t deter you.” Hades said irritably.

“But I can tell you this, listen carefully...use your senses...and then take a decision. Don’t make it a hasty one.”

“Persephone,” Hades’ voice was dangerously low.

“I am sorry child, but I wish I could help more.” She said, ignoring her husband again. “Now if you excuse me -” and with that she was gone, vanished into thin air.

Derek looked over at Hades who was glaring at him.

“What?” He shrugged. “I cannot decide a matter of eternity in less than half an hour. Give me a couple of days at least.”

“You get one hour and then I would have Cerberus drag you to a place which would make you wish you had landed up at the inferno.”

Derek bit down his lip. He didn’t want a fight with a mythical three-headed demon dog if he could help it. 

He wished his pack was here for he was not good with taking decisions for his always ended up in disasters.

Saying that, he didn’t regret his decision of going all ahead of himself and threatening the elder Winchester. He had rattled him enough to shoot him on sight at their next meeting, even though that turned out fatal for Derek rather than the other way round, but Derek was not sorry for his action. To wipe the smug expression off the face of the stoic hunter even for a few moments was something he really enjoyed doing and it had been a long time that he enjoyed something. When Dean had pushed him against the wall and was riled up when he had laughed in his face, Derek was having fun after a long time, until he smelt something off on the elder hunter and sensed the presence of the Mark on him. Then it turned serious and Derek was AGAIN, not at all sorry that he chose to visit them for even though Chris had said Dean was suffering from some incurable magical disease or something he hadn’t imagined it was the Mark of Cain.

And now, the pack would never even know how dangerous Dean Winchester really was!

Derek looked around frantically. The god had disappeared, probably to give him space to come to a decision. He found himself running away from the house this time for he couldn’t bear the sounds and the voices coming from the house any more. He clapped both hands over his ears and ran into the preserve, even though he knew it was only an illusion.

Derek wanted to be with his family more than anything else for the loss of it was like an aching hole in his heart that never filled up.

But he wanted to protect his pack from the new threat they were not even aware of!

And stupid Stiles...with his stupid grin and his stupid big heart, would probably end up being skewed by the demon blade for he would surely try to help the Winchesters.

Derek increased his speed...he would be damned to all eternity before he would let anybody touch Stiles or Scott or Lydia or anyone from his pack.


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you mean we cannot find him if he doesn’t want to be found?” Scott pretty much yelled at Castiel. “Of course he would want to be found. It is Derek. He cannot leave us. Not like this.” Stiles winced at Scott’s tone. It was all good for Scott to direct his righteous anger at a human or even a pissed off werewolf, but it was an angel for God’s sake. He probably had the power to turn Scottie into a messy red blotch at the nearest wall.

“Hey, hey...” Stiles strode up and gripped Scott’s arm, hoping it would ground him. The moment they had realised Derek was not waking up even after his bullet wound was completely healed and there might be something really wrong with him, Scott had constantly been a hair-trigger away from completely losing his shit, something he had not done since the first few months of being a clueless werewolf. Scott was much more balanced now, being a young alpha of a group of humans and supernaturals, he had found his equilibrium fairly quickly once evil people stopped targeting Beacon Hills or trying to send its unsuspecting citizens to an early grave. Scott was a strong leader, fiercely protective of his pack, but infinitely kind and patient with all its members. 

Stiles once asked Derek about Scott’s ability to handle all the pressure of being the leader of a bunch of supernatural teenagers without messing it up. It was more of an offhand comment actually and not really a question, but the way Derek’s lips tightened, Stiles knew Derek had a theory on it and of course he bugged the hell out of the werewolf until Derek gave in and told him that Scott probably didn’t quite do it without help. It was the fact that Scott had multiple anchors, in his mother who knew what Scott was and acted as his moral compass, Allison as the love of his life, he had Kira later, as a friend and partner-in-arms, strong father-figures like Sheriff or Chris Argent, and finally there was Stiles, a ‘steady and unwavering presence’ by his side. Derek actually used those words and if Stiles had not been choking on surprise and emotions, he probably would have commented why Derek sounded so sad when he said all those things, and thank fucking God for that because Stiles got it later alright. Derek didn’t have any of those. The only people Derek could count upon were his homicidal uncle, a cryptic vet who sneered at Derek at all possible occasions and two bumbling teens who hated the very guts of him - there you had the full list of people whom Derek as an alpha had as a support system. The fact that Derek was SO good at asking for help only worsen the situation.

Stiles suddenly realised Derek didn’t have a Derek either, teaching him the ropes of being a werewolf, smacking his head upside down when he was being an idiot, shoving him against the wall to get a point across, silencing him with a terrifying frown and ordering him about, saying he didn’t, in fact, knew what was best for him and so his words would be the last one, throwing his body unthinkingly between him and whatever supernatural being they were facing currently...  


No Derek certainly didn’t have anybody like that.

And that got him thinking.

Scott not only had Melissa and Chris and Stiles and Allison...he had Derek also. So it might be possible Scott was going apeshit-crazy while Stiles was at least trying to be the reasonable one here because Scott was feeling de-anchored without Derek.

“Scott please you need to calm down.” Stiles soothed. At the back of his mind, he actually wanted to laugh at the situation. Derek’s limp, barely breathing form was lying on the steel table and it was Stiles who was trying to placate Scott who was just about flying off the handle. It was so backward! But once the initial haze of anger had passed, Stiles had swallowed the need for a bitter vengeance and had postponed it until later. He was good at postponing, for that was how he dealt with things. Right now the priority was to focus on Derek and he knew they needed as much help as they could get and if these hunters at this very moment could help, he would take the help gladly, until Derek died and then he would slit their throats, equally gladly.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths while the two hunters shuffled restlessly on their feet, looking unsure. 

“I merely state the reality of things.” Castiel said in answer to Scott’s earlier question. “Your friend is at a place where he is needed to make a choice - and if there is any chance of his making it back to the land of living, he has to desire it.”

Stiles sucked in a breath and found his lungs were too small for air for he was not so sure Derek had much of that - desire to live - so to speak. The way Derek played with death like it was a fucking game, like he almost expected, wished even, for it all to end for him. Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen Derek genuinely smile. He sometimes gave this half-smile and Stiles had no shame in admitting that some of his antics during the pack-meetings and some off-colour jokes or stupid comments were solely because he wanted to see that odd half-smile, which was almost bashful, like he was ashamed of smiling, and even then there was this aura of sadness around him.

“Derek will choose to come back.” It was Lydia who stepped up, levelling a glare at the angel. “He always comes back.”

That he definitely did. He might take sometime off from Beacon Hills, he might go off to unknown destinations without bothering to say good-bye even and his phone was usually unreachable at those times, but he eventually came back. 

“He might want to come back, but will Hades really let him?” It was Deaton this time, always the voice of cold reason. He directed the question to Castiel who looked downright uncomfortable suddenly.

“Well?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You see,” the angel started haltingly, “Hades is not above using a trick or two on a soul that has travelled to the underworld and try to keep it there.”

“Yeah, I am sure we are all familiar with the myth.” Stiles said. “How he tricked Persephone to eat the pomegranate seeds so that she could not leave the underworld and was trapped there forever.”

“For four months.” Lydia rejoined. “Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, was forced to spend four months of each year with Hades, as the queen of the underworld.”

“Well, Derek is no Greek god, though he could probably pass for one...maybe...well, I told him to lay off the push ups, so that he comes down to the level of mortal human beings, but would he listen?” Stiles rambled and heard Dean snorting. That was the first sound he had made for a long time.

He ignored the hunter and went on, “as I was saying, Derek is no god or goddess and so Hades shouldn’t have any interest in keeping him there, right?”

Castiel didn’t answer him immediately for he had his hand on Derek’s forehead again and his eyes were closed, like he was concentrating hard. Then he opened his eyes and just stared at the wall, face completely blank.

“Cas?” It was Dean this time. “What is the matter?” He sounded worried, and it was Stiles’s turn to snort. As if he gave two hoots about the life of a werewolf, a ‘monster’ in Dean’s world-view. It was like facing the bigotism of Victoria or Kate Argent all over again.

Cas looked at Dean and his calm demeanour had cracked. “I think it might be too late.”

“What?” Dean startled. “No. That is not...Cas, we must find a way. We cannot just lose hope like that. You said there is a way to reach him.”

“Yes you can.” Castiel looked around. Deaton had already arranged three bathtubs full of ice and herbs, the same ones used when Scott, Stiles and Allison sacrificed themselves in lieu of their parents when the murderous darach had kidnapped them. The idea was that the ice would help the body freeze over, making it possible for the soul to roam away from the body, at least for some time and then it would be up to Castiel to tell them how to reach the underworld and find Derek.

“But the question is whether you will be able to reach him in time.” Castiel heaved a sigh. “For I have a feeling the struggle has already started.”

“Struggle?” Scott screeched. “Is he...is he fighting with Hades...by himself?”

“No.” Castiel looked as Scott sadly. “He is struggling with himself.”

“I don’t understand.” Sam suddenly interjected. “In New York Derek was quiet and sad and yes he tended to brood a lot. But he was never suicidal. He...you mean...you cannot imply that he may not want to come back at all? It makes no sense.”

“You knew Derek?” Stiles said, utterly shocked. Derek had never mentioned it before, but he must have recognised him from the photo!

“Yes. I know...knew Derek. But he has changed. When he came around at our apartment last week, he seemed...he was like...”

“Snarky and mean and tad bit menacing and prone to physical violence rather than calm, reasonable discussions?” Stiles asked.

“Exactly.” Sam’s face lit up.

“Yeah.” Stiles smiled fondly. “That is Derek. How else would he be?”

The question seemed to catch Sam off-guard. “I don’t know.” He shook his head helplessly. “A normal guy, trying to cope with a tragedy? He was...he...he cooked rather well. He loved to cook, in fact. He went to college, he used to read a lot...and he offered tuitions to the freshmen I guess. He was never very talkative or outgoing, but he was not this much dark, this much angry...just, as normal as a guy can be after watching his family being burnt to death?”

“Sam,” Dean sounded like he was choking. "I..."

“Nope.” Stiles glared at Dean. “You are not allowed to feel sorry for Derek Hale. You don’t know shit about Derek. You don’t so much as take his name...” Stiles felt his throat closing up again. Scott this time placed a hand on his back.

“Derek has evidently changed. But he is...we...”

“He is an over-protective bastard who never listens to the voice of reason, but we need him back anyway for he is ours.” Lydia finished for him. “So instead of wasting our time, maybe we should get on with it?”

“We need to do it near Nemeton.” Castiel suddenly said.

“You know about the Nemeton?” Scott asked, surprised.

“Dude,” Stiles poked him. “He is an angel. Duh!”

“Right.” Scott clammed down.

“So there needs to be a blood sacrifice.” Castiel went on staring intently at Derek. “Those of you wish to visit the underworld need to offer your blood to the tree as a pledge, requesting the spirit of Nemeton to pull you back when the time comes.”

“Is it true then?” Deaton asked. “The roots of Nemeton truly reaches the underworld?”

“Yes.” Castiel replied. “One of its many roots. So Nemeton’s roots will guide you on your way. But once you reach there you have to find him on your own. And that depends on - ”

“Whether he wants to be found.” Stiles finished his sentence.

“Right.” Castiel smiled at Stiles, though it seemed tired. The angel, in fact, looked more than tired. He looked like he could keel over any moment. It didn’t escape his notice how the elder hunter, Dean, kept on shooting concerned looks towards the angel. Stiles was a bit surprised at that for Dean Winchester did not come across exactly as somebody who would care for anybody else beside him. But Stiles had met Derek and so he knew better than to judge somebody by the first impression, however poor it might be.

“This time, I am coming with you.” Chris Argent spoke up for the first time and Stiles almost jumped in the air. He had clean forgotten his presence completely.  


“No Chris.” Scott said. “You need to take care of the pack while we are away. We are going to handle it. You must stay here.” Stiles could hear clearly what Scott didn’t say out loud. With the two unknown hunters around he couldn’t trust anybody else to ensure the safety of the pack.

“I am coming with you.” 

Everybody stared at Dean, including his brother.

“No, Dean,” he started.

“I am.” Dean shook his head. “It was my fault in the first place.”

“Dude, we are not trying to guilt-trip you really. It is going to be very risky. We have done something similar before, Let us handle it.” Scott said and Stiles blessed Scott’s kind heart for he really didn’t have it in him to forgive the hunter any time soon.

Dean laughed bitterly. “Don’t worry about me kid. I have had my share of journeys to different planes of hell more times that I care to remember.”

“Really?” Stiles for the first time looked at Dean somewhat awed.

“Really.” Dean grinned at him. “What with another whimsical demi-god and another level of hell!”

“Hades is NOT a demi-god and the underworld is not some kind of hell.” Lydia said irritably. “Get you facts straight. How do you hunt supernatural beings with this kind of knowledge?”

Sam hid his smile behind his hand at the look on Dean’s face, which couldn’t quite decide whether to be annoyed or awed.

“Ok, so Scott, myself and senior Winchester.” Stiles clapped his hands. “Lyds, don’t even think about it. In absence of Scott and Derek, you are only one that can keep our bunch of pups on line. You intimidate them even more than Derek and that is saying something.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes but kept silent.

“Cas?” Dean suddenly strode forward towards Castiel who was swaying on his feet and his hand was again resting on Derek’s forehead. Dean caught Castiel in time before he collapsed on the floor in a heap.

“I am losing him...” Castiel opened his eyes tiredly and looked at Scott. “You need to hurry.”


	8. Chapter 8

The twelfth time Derek started running in a different direction and just like the last eleven times, discovered himself standing in front of his house again, he felt his lungs would burst with exhaustion.

He placed his hands on his knees and panted.

“Laura... your butt a little and find the placemats...”

“...mom...is not my turn...”

“I...want to hear...”

He raised his head and listened. 

There were those sounds again, ridiculously domestic and familiar and there were those damn voices.

An unnatural wind blew around him and he felt like the god’s voice whispering low in his ears:

“You should let it go wolf. Your family is here. They want you. They need you. You are not wanted up there anymore. You are just a waste of space. You are not needed by anybody. You are just a burden whom everybody tolerates more or less because they have got used to the idea of you hanging around. You don’t seriously think anybody actually caring for you, now do you? That is just sad. Even Stiles has no qualms to shout in your face that you are useless. You are not an alpha anymore. You are nothing...”

Derek hauls himself up to full height and shuffles forward, away from the damn house.

Thirteen and fourteen and fifteen...twenty nine and thirty...

Everytime he took off, he hoped this time he would escape it. He would find an exit, a magic portal or a key or something, anything at all to point him home. He collapsed in front of his house in a graceless heap. 

He pushed himself up again and winced a little. His feet were bloody for he was not wearing any shoes. He started limping away, catching his lip between his teeth as the raw skin of his feet came into contact with the ground. The next thing he knew the world darkened around him for he had no oxygen left in his lungs and he was not healing at all.

“Why are you fighting it?” The god asked from somewhere above him and he realised he was on the ground again and he couldn’t move for his life. He hadn’t even had it in him to open his eyes.

He really didn’t even know why he was fighting it, really. What was left for him other than a burning desire to make amends for his mistakes? But surely any shrink would tell him that shouldn’t be his only reason to go on.

No matter how many times anybody told him none of this was his fault, he knew in his heart that it fucking was, directly or indirectly. 

Yes, he was young and naive and yes he got manipulated, but it was his fault that he let them manipulate him. It was his fault that he requested Enis to bite Paige and practically signed her death sentence. He was guilty of lusting after the hot older woman who smiled at him in a way that made him feel wanted. It was the cheap thrill of taking a bite of the forbidden fruit - his desire, his lust, his greed - it was nothing but him!

How could he ever forget that?

But as it happened nobody in fact had ever told him it was NOT his fault (he didn't count Persephone at all for one part of his mind was sure she was not real, but he just hallucinated her for that kind of warmth did not exist outside his mom an she was not here).

Laura never knew about it and neither did Cora, thank fucking God for that.

Deaton judged him silently and even though he had been the Hale emissary, he preferred Scott over Derek. He had made it abundantly clear whereas he actually liked Scott like his own son, Derek fell considerably short of some invisible yardstick that measured the quality and integrity of a person. Every time Deaton helped him, he hadn’t let him forget that he was only doing it out of his loyalty towards his mother and not because he cared for Derek as a person.

Stiles judged him more vocally and Derek would never forget his rant about his ‘psycho, mass-murdering girlfriends’ in the hospital when Jennifer had kidnapped his father.

Chris was the only person who somehow understood his guilt. Derek would often look at Chris and catch him staring with a burning intensity but at the same time with a blankness that proved he was seeing him but his mind was somewhere else. Derek hoped he didn’t remind Chris over and again of Kate and her terrible deeds. Probably he did and Chris was sorry, sharing the burden with Derek wordlessly as they drank beer together in the quiet loft.

But whereas Chris was a passive participant, Derek had been an active one. He might not have lighted the matches but that was pretty much the only thing he didn’t do!

So no thank you, he was not capable of considering himself exonerated.

His third mistake was Jackson and it was ALL him. 

His fourth mistake was how he handled being an alpha - turning cocky and arrogant and had his poor, clueless, underage betas killed or run away from him by sheer foolishness.

His fifth mistake was Jennifer. He should have totally seen that coming.

His sixth mistake was letting Peter worm his way into the pack again.

His next mistake was...wait, no, it was not a mistake for listening to Peter and giving up his alpha power to save Cora was probably the only right thing he had ever done in his life.

He was thankful to Peter for that one.

Derek searched desperately. He needed an anchor to hold him back. He wanted to see his family, but a whispered voice inside him was telling him there would be no going back once he had crossed that door of the lovely house sitting prettily in the heart of the forest.

Even after going through everything, he still wanted to get out of here alive.

His mind grabbed at things at random, trying to bring together the scattered pieces with raw jagged edges that summed him up. He searched for a flicker of light somewhere...something that would make it all worthwhile.

Wait....Braeden.

But then he remembered...

She was gorgeous and strong and he shouldn’t have mistaken her fondness for love. It was all good for a while until he tried to follow her across the continent in search of desert wolf. She had sat him down and told him gently how it wasn’t the same for her and she could not possibly settle down and that a forever and after kind of thing was not in her card at the moment and that they had better part ways like this when there was still easy affection between them and the sex was still pretty explosive.

Cora...

But then again, though he loved her very much and would happily die for her, Cora was basically a stranger to him. She was happy in South America anyways, with the pack that raised her. She felt more kinship with them than with him and he had let her go gladly for he wanted one of them to be happy at least.

Still he was human (so to speak) and he sometimes wondered idly what it would be like to build a log cottage in the preserve. He wondered how it would feel if he furnished it and put up lace curtains at the windows and hung a wind-chime in the porch and placed a couple of wicker chairs with a glass top coffee table there for enjoying a lazy afternoon with a book. What if he took up a regular job and came back in the evening at the smell of home-cooked dinner. Or better still if he just stayed at home preparing the said dinner, putting his cooking skill to use after all these years. What if somebody came home to dinner and they laughed and bickered and talked about their days and played footsies under the table pretending to be oblivious about it and settled down on the couch together, wrestling for the remote, fighting over which movie to watch on Netflix. What if, for once, he lay down on the bed and there was a warm body behind him, enveloping him in their warmth. What if sex wasn’t limited to a quick jerk-off in the bathroom surrounded by cold empty air or an anonymous hook-up at the nightclub.

Derek tamped down on these kinds of thoughts violently for that way lay madness.

He had tried, hadn’t he?

Somewhere inside him he was still the desperate teenager trying to build back the family that fell apart around him or blew away with the wind.

He wanted Scott to be his kid brother, but he ended up pushing him away with his bad attitude and shitty decisions. He wanted Stiles to be his friend, but never had it in him to give it the time and patience that any friendship inherently deserves. He wanted a pack around him, a substitute family, but he was no Talia Hale.

He was not Laura either and he failed them miserably.

He had tried again and again with Jennifer and with the twins he rescued from the forest when the hunters chased after them and with Braeden and with Malia and Peter and with every fucking body...but he found himself standing alone in the end.

And it was nobody's fault but his own.

He never learnt from his mistake and he pushed all good people away.

It was not that Scott woudn’t welcome him with open arms into his pack, but he chose to be an omega instead. He simply didn’t feel any kinship with the pack though he cared for each of them individually. It never felt right to call Scott his alpha. It was not a pride or an ego thing for he had known for a long time Scott would make a far better alpha than him. It was HE who had pointed out to Scott he was the alpha of his own pack on the porch of Stiles’s house when they were chasing down the kanima.

But he couldn’t feel Scott to be his alpha.

Scott would forever be his kid brother though, no matter how much he disliked him still.

His situation kind of begged the question: what exactly he had left to fight for?

The answer came blindingly clear - nothing!

Derek opened his eyes after what seemed like a millennium and blinked up at Hades who was towering above him and looking down with a severe frown.

“I hope you have come to a decision wolf for your time is up.”

“I have.” Derek sighed and sat up, elbows resting loosely on his knees.

“Well?” The god asked when Derek didn’t follow it up with an answer. 

“I would like to meet my family.” Derek’s hands clenched into fists and he stared at the ground between his bare feet. His voice was barely above a whisper because it was too surreal for him still.

“But,” he looked up and continued in a stronger voice. “I have one condition.”

The god raised one eyebrow.

"I need to meet any one of my packmates first." Derek said in an even voice. "I understand it may be impossible physically but you can weave your magic...you are a god after all. It may be a dream or an astral projection or fucking telepathy, I don't care. I need this or you can set your guard dog upon me for I am not budging from here."

The god narrowed his eyes at him, his lips pressing into a thin and angry line.

Derek was so fucked for he had to open his mouth and enrage the god of the underworld, almost challenging him while standing in his own domain.

He tucked his chin into his chest and waited for his doom to come and drag him away to a place worse than hell as promised by the god earlier...


	9. Chapter 9

It was not a pleasant sensation to drown into a metal tub full of ice-cold water and to hold your breath until your heart stopped. Your lungs are on fire and you tend to try to claw your way to safety, to get a tiny whiff of the precious oxygen that is denied to the thrashing body and at some point when the pain is unbearable you lose consciousness. That is the best part, actually.

So Dean expected to be held down by Sam (all three of them were pinned down into the tub by a person closest to them) as he came round gasping for air, ready to fight if needed to get out of the airless hell. 

Only there was nothing to fight for.

The metal tubs were nowhere to be seen and all three of them were lying on the forest floor at exactly the same place.

The only difference was there was nobody around and the Nemeton was not a stub anymore. It was a full-grown tree extending its proud arms towards a strange orange sky with branches swaying, leaves rustling, almost dwarfing the humans at its feet.

“Are we...” Stiles trailed off glancing over at Dean who was already on his feet and scanning the forest.

“This is not the Preserve.” Scott muttered. “It smells nothing like a forest.”

“What does it smell like?”

“I don’t know.” Scott scrunched his face in open puzzlement. “Minerals?”

“Well, if that is not –”

Dean dropped into a crouch, his blade clutched in one hand ready to strike out at the still unseen threat for Stiles had broken off in the middle of the sentence and was staring off at something in front of him, entirely frozen.

“Stiles?” Scott asked worried.

“Der...Derek?” Stiles stammered.

Wait...what!

“Derek...” Stiles flung himself into the air, for there were no other words for it, as if expecting to be collided with or held safely by it.

“Stiles!” Both Dean and Scott shouted in unison and took a step towards him where he had fallen down in a pitiful heap.

“Derek...what the hell man!” Stiles glared up at, well somebody, and rose to his feet, dusting his jeans. He didn’t appear to have been injured, just pretty angry and humiliated.

“Who is he talking to?” Dean asked Scott under his breath. Scott looked at Dean and shook his head. His face was a mask of worry.

“Stiles buddy...” Scott tried.

“God I didn’t know it would be so easy.” Stiles laughed, but it bordered on hysteria. “Come on sourwolf. A little hug wouln’t kill you. Give me a hug...a bro-hug...please? How could you put a stunt like that? We like our resident broody sourwolf lurking and glaring and not sprawled out, still on Deaton’s table and lifeless and cold!” Stiles rambled.

Scott and Dean exchanged worried glances for Stiles’ eyes were fixed in front of him at a space an inch above his eye-level. He looked so convinced he was talking to a real person and not thin air.

“Stiles...you are scaring us dude!” Scott said softly. “Who are you talking to?”

“What!” Stiles whirled round on Scott. “It is Derek, can’t you see him?”

Scott’s nostrils flared.

“There is no-one here except for us.” Scott shook his head sadly.

“Derek is not here buddy. We need to go and look for him.”

“But...but...” Stiles spluttered, gesticulating wildly in front of him. “He is standing right here. He is...Derek, please say something.”

Dean felt completely at a loss. 

“Could it be a trick or something? An illusion?” Scott asked Dean.

“Could be.” Dean conceded, “but in that case all of us should be able to see it.”

“Don’t you dare tell me I am going out of my mind.” Stiles glared at Dean. “Yes I AM freaked out I cannot yet begin to imagine a world where there is no Derek to shove me around, but this is NOT it. Derek is standing right in front of me and it seems as of now only I can see him.”

“Stiles,” Dean said patiently, “it may not be Derek at all. This is underworld and this place is full of things which appears exactly what you want it to be. Take this forest for example.”

Stiles appeared to mull over his words, thank God.

“Ok.” He said, but his gaze was still fixed upon the invisible ‘Derek’ in front of him. “So how do I...”

“Ask him Stiles.” Scott interjected. “Ask him what happened to him and how we can help.”

“He...” Stiles stared at the blank space so intensely that it was giving Dean the creeps. “Oh my God, Scott, he cannot make a single sound.”

“What?”

“It is...he is saying something you know with that intense look that he gets going? He is saying something, but there is no sound, none at all.” Stiles looked at Scott. “Can you hear anything?”

“No.” Scott’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“Congratulations on finding an illusion and that too a mute one.” Muttered Dean.

“Oh he is giving you the hundred thousand volt glare.” Stiles smirked. “He is pissed at you man. He doesn’t like you at all.”

“Well, tell him the feeling is mutual.” Dean retorted.

“Says the man who is currently on a package tour of the underworld to save his hide.” Stiles muttered and then he was staring at invisible Derek again. “Yeah Disney princess, can you imagine that? Yes, I just called you a Disney princess and no I am not taking it back. Nope, no eyebrow-talking allowed until you are here in flesh and blood.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Dean asked Scott.

Scott’s face was doing an interesting thing as it seemed to be caught between extreme physical pain and laughter.

“Don’t ask me to translate everything Stiles says to Derek. They seem to have a language of their own, though on Derek’s part it is mostly glowering and Stiles mostly babbles, exactly what they seem to be doing right now.” Scott sighed. 

“This actually means it is really Derek, but we cannot see him, except for Stiles. Figures, I guess.”

Oh, well, that explained it then. Dean tried to ignore the sharp pang in his chest which felt surprisingly close to jealousy.

He shook his head. It must have been the underworld. Stiles was hallucinating and he was probably straight up losing his mind.

“I think it is time we should get going.” Dean said, keeping an eye on Stiles who seemed to be locked in a one-sided conversation with invisible Derek. “This illusion is doing us no good except for delaying us.”

Scott seemed torn and so Dean stalked up to Stiles and grabbed his arm. “Stiles you need to...”

Dean staggered back.

“Dude!”

“Whoa...what in God’s name was that!” Dean looked around him, bewildered, for as soon as he had grabbed Stiles he had felt a gust of wind so powerful that had made him stumble back.

“It is Derek.” Stiles said, looking at Dean quizzically. “He is mad.”

Dean could only look on, frozen in partial shock, as a small whirlwind rose around him, taking the fallen leaves and dust off the forest floor, engulfing him, cutting him off from Scott and Stiles.

“Derek...don’t.” Stiles's voice cut across the whoosh of the wind, loud, clear and supremely annoyed. “He is only helping us. Don’t be an ass. God...you never change, do you?”

The wind died down just as it started, leaving the dried leaves in midair to be floated down gently to the ground.

“What are you looking like that for?” Stiles threw his hands in air, exasperated. “You know how sick we all are of your dramas. Really! One will think a trip to the underworld will cure you and yet here you are, attacking the only help we got here. After going ahead and getting shot and die like a moron.”

“Stiles,” Scott warned.

“Don’t Stiles me.” Stiles spluttered. “It is all his fault. It will be his fault if we cannot get out of here alive...it is...he is just...he cannot do a single thing right and always has to play the hero and go ahead and die...”

Dean who knew all about misplaced anger and how one tends to lash out to the person they care for the most when they are at the end of their tethers, took a cautious step towards Stiles.

“So now you choose to disappear, you pathetic thing. That is just great. Come back damnit!”

Scott held Stiles from behind, who looked like he was going to take off after the invisible form wherever it had disappeared again.

“STILES.”

Stiles turned back and hugged his friend tightly. “I can’t...I just...can’t...again...” His breathing was coming out in wheezes.

“We will find him Stiles.” Scott soothed Stiles with his hand rubbing his back up and down. “Just breathe.”

Dean met Scott’s eyes over Stiles’ shoulder and nodded imperceptibly, as if in answer to the teenager’s mute question.

A person this much loved didn’t deserve to be put down like a dog.

...

“You tricked me.”

“No. You wanted to meet with a member of your pack of your choice. You chose a person and only he could see you.”

“Why couldn’t he hear me?” 

“You never said you wanted to talk to them.”

Derek clenched his hands into fists so that he didn’t accidentally punch the god in the face.

“They are here for me.” He whispered.

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure. Maybe the hunter had tricked them.”

Derek looked at Hades. “They are here for me.” He repeated.

“Now don’t be difficult.” Hades smiled coldly. “We already have a deal.”

“Am I really going to meet my family?” 

“Of course.” The answer came too fast, but the god’s heartbeat was infuriatingly steady as always.

Derek looked at the beautiful house which was once his home.

Once.

Everything about it screamed to his blood. The familiar lemon yellow paint peeling off the wall, which would prompt dad to groan every other day that they needed to re-paint the house, like yesterday...the porch steps where his mother would sit with a cup of tea straining her ears to hear the sounds of the young ones racing through the forest, keeping an ear for possible danger...the room in the attic with unnamed mysteries for it was full of hand-written books and wooden chests with symbols carved on them...lounging in the library on a rainy day while Peter and dad argued over politics or sports in the dining room...Laura engaged in a pillow fight with Vicky, her human best friend in her room...  


Then there was HIS human best friend.

What would you call a person whom you trust the most even when you don’t let people in easily? What would you call a person with whom you share this unique relationship that consists of saving each other’s life one moment and bickering back and forth the next without missing a beat? What would you call a person whose harsh words can penetrate your carefully crafted armour of silence and stoicity and make you feel like shit?

Surely, if he had any kind of relationship with Stiles at all, it had reached its quota of madness enough that he could call the ‘hyperactive spaz’ his best friend!

And then there were his wolf brothers and the banshee sister and the coyote cousin and the kitsune girl, all so very good and innocent and guileless...

And a middle-aged hunter who called him son when he drank too much or a hard-working woman with worry lines marring her attractive face who was in the habit of chiding him gently for not taking more care of himself and a man with an ironclad moral, a badged protector of people, asking him for help without any qualms in stead of looking at him and hating him on the sight for what he was...

Pack.

Was it selfish of him to want to let go? Was he really needed more than he originally imagined?

Derek narrowed his eyes at Hades.

“What if I don’t want to?” He said evenly. “What if I wanted to go back to my pack instead?”

“That...is unfortunate.” Hades answered in a monotone.


	10. Chapter 10

They were arguing if they should take off to the direction of the old Hale house when Scott lifted his hand to shush Stiles and cocked his head to one side.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I think I...” Scott’s eyes widened in panic.

“RUN!”

Before Dean could understand what was happening Stiles had grabbed him by his shirtsleeves and was tearing through the forest with him in tow. Suddenly it was dark. One moment there was this eerie twilight-like glow, pervading the entire forest and the next moment it was like a new moon night. Stiles stumbled over something and Dean barely had the time to prevent him falling face-down. 

“Don’t stop...” Stiles screeched at Dean and he agreed for even with his very human ears he could hear something pursuing them, something big and bad for it didn’t feel any need to conceal its presence.

Scott was staying close at their heels even though he could run twice as fast as them. With a sudden pang Dean realized it was so that he could throw himself physically between them and whatever it was chasing them.

Who are these kids, Dean asked himself again, for about a thousandth time.

“What is it?” Dean asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know.” Scott answered uneasily. “It smells like death.”

Thunders rumbled across the sky, illuminating the forest for briefly.

“Oh no...” Scott exclaimed. “We are near the ravine.”

“That cannot be good.” Dean yelled back.

The sound was getting alarmingly closer.

“We need to fight.”

With that all three of them screeched to a halt at the brink of the alleged ravine and turned their back on it.

It leapt through the air, straight at Stiles.

Before Dean knew it, Scott had shoved Stiles out of the way and was facing the thing in full alpha form.

The thing...animal, demon whatever, found its footing and attacked Scott head on and Dean realised the alpha werewolf was doomed from the beginning, for another slash of lightening had forked across the sky just then, revealing what exactly they were up against.

It was a monster of a dog, far bigger than a wolf, almost as big as a horse with sleek black body and three gigantic heads...and fangs, long and glistening, visible even in the near darkness.

One of its head had sunk its teeth into Scott’s arm even while he had been clawing at the other two.

“Scott...no” Dean grabbed the kid, Stiles, who was about to rush forward to help his friend.

Scott looked over at Dean, his eyes flashing crimson.

“Take him away.” He commanded around a mouthful of fangs which he sunk down at the junction of the creature’s body and neck.

The animal didn’t even look fazed and the head that still had Scott’s arm locked in its jaw, gave a violent shake, almost severing the limb in the process. Dean could only look on with mounting horror that he was not healing, something a werewolf was supposed to do.

Scott threw back his head and howled in pain.

...

The sky had turned inky black as if to keep with the darkening mood of the god.

A howl rose into the distance. Derek’s head whipped round for it was achingly familiar.

“Your family is waiting for you Derek.” Hades said patiently. “Are you going to disappoint them? Again? After making them go through hell because of you?”

Derek looked at the god whose blue eyes glinted, cold and unforgiving.

Another howl was cut off by an ungodly snarl.

“Don’t you dare...” The god snapped but Derek had already started towards the direction of the howl.

“STOP.”

Thunder clapped, almost deafening him as the stern voice of Hades gave out a command and the next thing he knew he was thrown into a vortex. When his head stopped spinning, he was in their apartment in New York. He could hear Laura singing, horribly out of tune, from the kitchen. 

The very next moment, he was in the old distillery, the whispered promises and sweet nothings uttered by two teenagers such a long time ago were still faintly echoing in the air, fresh, as if they had just departed.

It was a boy’s locker room then, a lacrosse jersey thrown casually over the bench. The name sewn on the back of the jersey was a painful reminder of somebody quiet and unassuming. Somebody who died in his stead, his treacherous mind supplied.

Inevitably, the bank vault was the next. Derek swallowed as he could still feel her weight in his arms, a girl who remained untamed to her very last breath.

“You could have them all back.” The god whispered into his ears and it said something about the mental turmoil he was in that he didn’t even startle. “Just think about it.”

The final difference between your dream and your reality is the impossibility of the former and the inevitability of the later. 

He had taught himself that when his good dreams became nightmares so many times in the past on waking up.

Derek tried to chant it over in his head again and again now.

“You need to go through that door. Right now!”

Derek found himself standing on the porch right in front of the door. He had no recollection of reaching here.

“Open it!” Hades was just behind him, so close that his breath tingled his ear.

...

“Do something.” Stiles begged and Dean’s heart was breaking into two. 

He knew these kids for a mere few hours and they had begun to almost change his world-view. These were no righteous people clamouring and fighting for justice. These were people who simply cared for each other and their love ran so deep that would spit in the face of death itself. He was slightly awed at the ferociousness of their affection, the depth of their bond and the innocence that was in their eyes.

“Please,” Stiles was on the verge of tears as the demon dog was clawing and biting Scott or what was left of him and even though he was still fighting back, he was getting weaker and weaker.

“I can’t kid.” Dean shook his head.

Oh he definitely could, a voice inside his head snarked.

He would only have to call upon his Mark and let go.

A hound from the depths of underworld would be nothing to him.

However, he also knew he wouldn’t stop with the monster and he wouldn’t be in any state to even differentiate between the monster and the innocent.

It had happened before and Dean couldn’t take any chance here.

He knew how the Mark was driving him to madness, slowly, but surely.

He knew his Mark was hungry.

“DEAN...” Stiles screamed as the monster dog went for the jugular.

Damn it to the seventh circle of hell...Dean let himself loose!

...

“Derek...sweetheart is that you?”

“Mom?” Derek froze.

“Mom!” Derek’s breath hitched. “I can’t see you.”

“Oh sweetheart...but you will. Very soon.” 

Just open the damn door, his mind supplied quietly.

As if on cue there was that howl again, desperate and forlorn. 

“No,” Derek was shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not Derrie? We miss you!”

Tears were threatening spill over his eyes again at that nickname. How long had it been anybody had called him by that name!

He took a step forward and rested his forehead on the door, caressing the familiar wood softly. He squeezed his eyes shut and blocked out the memory of the dead terrain, the unmerciful god standing behind him, the increasingly hostile atmosphere. In his mind he was sixteen again and his mother was holding him in her arms at the root cellar beneath the nemeton after he first took an innocent life.

“Mom,” his voice broke. “I am scared.”

“Of what darling?”

“I...I will take a wrong decision again and some innocent will die because of me.” He whispered. “Again.”

“Don’t be afraid Derrie.” His mom’s voice drifted through the door, strong and soothing and grounding as always. “Don’t be afraid to want to live.”

Derek started, for he hadn’t even mentioned that.

The god cleared his throat behind him bringing him back to reality or whatever twisted version of it he was living.

He glared at Hades who looked back at him serenely.

“My family is DEAD.”

Hades raised a single eyebrow.

“I never said anything to the contrary.” He said calmly. “But after death comes eternity.”

“WELL I AM NOT DEAD YET.” Derek snarled at the god. “I am NOT dead and I choose my pack over whatever game you are playing with me right now. I need to be ALIVE for them.”  


Before his eyes the house collapsed like a pack of cards and Hades’ face changed to something stormy and dark.

Around Derek the forest roared like a living thing.


	11. Chapter 11

Something had happened to Dean after he had taken the strange-looking blade out of the waist-band of his jeans and ordered Stiles gruffly to get away from him. He was smiling to himself, but it was not a good sort of smile. Stiles backed up involuntarily. 

The good news was that the monster dog had stopped tearing Scott into bite-size pieces and had its attention riveted on Dean instead.

“Come here boy...” Dean whistled. “Come to papa.”

“Dean?”

Dean looked at Stiles and holy God his eyes were pitch black.

Stiles retreated a few steps until his backside bumped with a huge boulder and he semi-crawled all the way to hide behind the rock. At this moment he felt safer to put something solid between himself and Dean.

“Come on cujo. Show us a few tricks.” Dean swaggered forward. Even his tone was different. Everything about the man had changed within a matter of seconds.

The monster was losing interest in Dean and was about to claw open Scott again when Dean was onto it in a flash.

The dog snarled viciously and tried to turn on its new enemy, but Dean was impossibly fast, faster than a werewolf, faster than Allison’s arrows...and he had slashed at the dog’s side with a gleeful little cry. Stiles was debating how he could drag Scott’s limp body away from the two without attracting too much attention. He was inching out of his hiding place, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Don’t be an idiot.” A voice barked from behind before he could panic and pure relief flooded him like sweet blessing. “Stay RIGHT where you are.”

Derek didn’t waste time with threats, but stalked forward, silent as night, to where Scott was lying prone. He hooked his hands through Scott's armpits, keeping an wary eye on Dean and the demon dog. Then he started dragging him back to where Stiles was hiding and settle him down with his back resting against the rock.

“Scott!” Stiles gripped Scott by the shoulders.

“He is breathing, but is losing a lot of blood. The wounds are not closing fast enough.” Derek said grimly.

Scott’s eyes fluttered open.

“I am ok.” Scott said weakly.

“Shut up Scott.” Derek wrapped one hand around this neck and then made a frustrated noise.

“I cannot take his pain. It is not working here.”

Scott smiled at Derek dopeyly.

“Hey man. I can see you too.” After a pause he added. “Don't die ok? I will kill you if you do...”

Derek looked like he was wavering between strangling Scott or hugging him breathless.

An agonising screech torn through the night air and Stiles and Derek peeked from behind the boulder to watch Dean. He had managed to sever one head off the demon dog and it was thrashing about in blind rage or pain or both. Dean was looking positively deranged. He was covered from head to foot with blood and his eyes were still pitch black and his lips were crooked up into the same mockery of a smile.

“What the hell is he?” Stiles croaked.

“Hey sourwolf. Come out and play.” Dean called out. “Don't be shy!”

“How can he...” Stiles’ eyes bugged out of his head. There was no way Dean used the pet name accidentally. 

Derek tried to rise to his feet to come out of their hiding place but Stiles clung to him.

“Are you mad?” Stiles whispered.

“No but he is.” Derek deadpanned.

“Derek...” Stiles hissed frantically as Derek took a step towards Dean.

“Hello Dean.” He said evenly.

Stiles took a peek only to see Dean was busy stabbing the demon dog viciously while it lay utterly still on the ground.

“It is already dead Dean.” Derek said cautiously. “You need to calm down now.”

“Calm? You are asking me to calm down boy?” Dean snarled and there was an echo of another voice behind his normal one.

Derek took a step back.

“No of course not. Clearly calming down is not on the table.” He said in what he hoped a placating voice.

Stiles didn’t know how could Derek act so calm at the face of the thing standing in place of Dean. In the brief period he had known the hunter, aside from the stupid prejudice regarding werewolves, he hadn’t seemed to be a bad man. But this person or thing standing confidently in the midst of a forest in the underworld like he owned the place did not resemble Dean or any human being for that matter.

He seemed pure evil.

“Derek?” He ventured again.

“Stay back Stiles.” Derek warned without taking his eyes off Dean.

“Dean, I think you need to try to control it.”

It hadn't escaped his notice Dean had indeed accompanied Scott and Stiles, risking his life to apparently rescue him. He didn't trust the hunter as far as he could throw him, but he was ready to give him the benefit of doubt as of now. He would deal with him later, when they were in a familiar terrain. Right now, he knew he could not leave Dean behind. 

However, the hunter was making it almost impossible for him to follow through with his resolution. 

“Where is the fun is that?” Dean chuckled darkly.

“We need to get out of here as soon as possible.” Derek reasoned. 

Dean didn’t seem to hear him at all. He suddenly cocked his head like he could hear something even the wolves could not and then he took off in a lightning speed. 

“What the hell is he?” Stiles asked again.

“That was what I was trying to warn you guys about.” Derek huffed. “He is carrying the Mark of Cain.”

“Mark of Cain?” Stiles screeched. “The thing that traps darkness? That thing is older than everything. Hell it is supposed to be older than God.”

“You are very informative.”

It was something to say for the state of his mind that Stiles didn’t even jump at the new voice.

The sky turned lighter, filling the forest with a strange blue glow.

The man was standing tall with a scowl that would rival Derek’s. He had a nice clean-shaven face, a nice physique, nice clothes and nice everything in general except for he looked cold and terrifying.

“So you HAVE found your pack and a Mark of Cain.” The man addressed Derek. “And you choose to ignore your family, your own flesh and blood and choose...these and for what end?”

Derek’s mask slipped for a moment and he looked lost.

“Who is the Jackson Whittmore wannabe?” Stiles whispered to Derek. 

"This is your last chance, wolf." The newcomer ignored Stiles; well, story of his life!

"How do you say 'go to hell' to somebody already standing in it!" Derek wondered aloud.

"Dude," Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs. "Rude much? You cannot try to have a decent conversation for once?"

Derek shot him a look that clearly conveyed he regretted every damn second he suffered his presence. 

"Hey," Stiles swung his arms back and forth nervously. "So...um, nice to meet you and all. We would love to bond but we are in a bit of hurry, so maybe some other time?"

“No time like the present time. I will start by declaring my heartiest thanks to Derek here first for instead of one I have two werewolves now and a human and a hunter.” The man smirked. His face was even more expressionless than Derek’s but whereas Derek’s expressionlessness always hid his pain (which Stiles had discovered after studying the man for a long time), this person seemed to be entirely incapable of having any emotions.

“Or you could let us all go, hmm?” 

All three of them turned to look at Dean who had appeared seemingly out of thin air.

“Dean!” Derek sounded as flabbergasted as Stiles felt, the reason of which might be that Dean had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a beautiful woman with long silky hair and emerald-green eyes and the tip of his ugly blade was digging into the hollow of her throat.

“No,” Derek started to move towards Dean. “Don’t do anything to her.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean’s blade dug into her milky skin and even in the poor light Stiles knew blood was trickling down her throat. She did not utter a single sound.

“I am almost afraid to ask,” Stiles whispered to Derek again, “but who is this chic?”

“Husband dear? You would like to say something?” Dean mocked. “She is a precious commodity to you isn’t it? Demeter will not take it kindly if you manage to have her killed.”

“Holy shit...You are Hades and Persephone!” Stiles floundered. 

“Can I ask for their autographs or it would be bad manners?” Stiles whispered to Derek again who heaved an utterly resigned sigh and looked heavenward for help.

Persephone laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound like waterfalls. 

“The boy is funny.” Dean said even while increasing the pressure of the blade on Persephone’s throat. The goddess seemed to be completely unconcerned though.

“He is a riot.” Derek agreed. “And you are terrifying. We are all trembling in our shoes. Now kindly let the lady go.”

“God you sound like a medieval knight.” Dean laughed. “Tell me one reason why I should.”

“Because I asked nicely.” Derek cocked his head to one side. “And I do that only once.”

“Dude, did you just threaten him?” Stiles hissed. “In what universe do you think that is a good idea?”

“Does that line work on high school kids?” Dean arched an eyebrow.

“And now he is flirting.” Stiles threw his hands in air. “That is just...great!”

Derek scowled. 

“Leave.her.alone.”

“But Derek,” Dean pouted. “She is our ticket out of here. Think of Scott lying unconscious there and your human boy here. So young and breakable.”

“She has got nothing to do with this.” Derek gritted out.

“Oh come on grump-puss...don’t be a killjoy.” Dean whined. “Look at her. She is so pretty. She would be prettier with her throat slit open.”

“Oh my God. He is insane!” Stiles clapped a hand on his mouth.

“You are her husband. Do something.” Derek pleaded to Hades who was standing stoically as if the scene in front of him didn’t affect him at all.

“What do you expect me to do?” Hades asked and it occurred to Stiles he was, sort of enjoying himself. 

“You should totally file for a divorce you know.” Stiles shook his head sadly at Persephone, who gave out an honest to god giggle.

Well, gods of the underworld were all batshit crazy.

“Ok, so trick question.” Dean focused his attention on Hades this time. “Would you have your wife in one piece and let us free so that we can go back to our warm and toasty bodies or would you rather I slice her up nicely and gift wrap all the pieces for you?”

“Oh I am sorry to deny your request.” Hades said calmly. “But I can tell you since you are all here, you are going to help increase my collection. I was hoping on a single werewolf, but now that I have more and I am going to make you stay.”

“Sorry I lost you at ‘collection’” Derek air-quoted and Stiles kind of gaped at him. He never thought he would see Derek of all people using that particular gesture.

“Well, the underworld is not the first place the wandering souls often stumble into. There are seven circles of hell and there are other places that are beyond human knowledge and then there is the limbo.”

“So what? You are short on souls?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Not souls.” Hades shook his head. “Warriors, who are going to fight beside me when I take over my brother.”

“Holy shit!” Stiles whistled. “You are creating an army!”

“And now you are going to be a part of it.” Hades chuckled. “I have the entire Hale family here and I promised Talia Hale I would bring her son to her if he arrived here so that they could stay together for all eternity if only she fights for me. It goes without saying Derek would also be a valuable addition to my army.”

“But Derek has never won a fight,” Stiles protested.

“He wants his heart.”

Everybody stared at Persephone who had chosen to speak at last.

“An army in order to defeat a god as powerful as Zeus needs to be a special one. It needs a general, a blade, a head and a heart.” Persephone’s eyes flicked to Derek. “All the former three are at his disposal, except for the heart.”

“And now I have you. The heart.” Hades smiled at Derek, slow and sure of himself. "Plus a few extra."

The ground beneath them shook before Hades finished the sentence and Dean lost his footing. Persephone slipped off his hold and before they could blink she was standing beside her husband. The monster dog was standing behind them, growling lowly in his throat, baring his terrifying fangs. They should have known a mythical creature could not be killed that easily.

It was utter chaos then for suddenly crevices appeared on the ground and Stiles flailed violently, almost falling into the dark depths. Derek grabbed him by the scruff of his neck in time and yanked him back.

“Scott!” Stiles yelled over the sound of the roaring wind.

“Onto it!” Derek was a blur in the bluish semi-darkness. “Don’t move.” He commanded over his shoulder.

Well, Stiles didn’t dare to move even when his instincts were screaming at him to get away. Derek leapt over a six-foot-wide crack that had appeared all of a sudden and Stiles was so thankful for the werewolf reflexes again. He crouched down and picked up Scott, cradling him close to his chest.

“Derek...look out!” Stiles screamed in horror as the forest floor gave out all around Derek, collapsing into the ravine just behind him. The impact had Derek sway on his feet dangerously and Stiles fell forward, face-planting on the rocky ground. For some inexplicable reason he started crawling on his belly to take a peek into the newly created gorges.

“Stiles...stay still you idiot.” Derek’s voice was faint, like he was standing far away. 

Stiles wanted to obey him. He knew intellectually it was a bad idea, but he just couldn’t help himself. He surged forward, gripping the lip of the crevice and peered down.  


“Stiles, I swear to God I am going to rip your throat...”

The first thing he noticed was the stench. It was indescribable. It was like a million corpses were hidden in there, rotting for all eternity. Then the darkness swirled and images were forming, made of grey shadows, that were crawling upward, shadows with unnaturally long, thin limbs, shadows that didn’t have eyes or nose or ears or any feature at all to make them human, make them anything in fact.

Stiles didn’t even feel himself falling.


	12. Chapter 12

There are moments when your entire existence is brought into question when you see something inevitable happening in front of your eyes, something like a train-wreck, in slow-motion and you just know if it happens you will not be the same any more for everything ultimately comes back to you, all the shitty decisions you took or didn’t dare to take and everything became meaningless, just like that! All the charades you put up to establish a certain distance, all your efforts to put yourself far away and beyond because you are a bloody coward, every facet of your pathetic defense comes crumbling down as the person who had the ability to heal you if you just let him, falls to his death – before your eyes!

Derek wasn’t even aware of what he was doing before he moved. He had thrown Scott’s body with all his might across the widening chasm and he landed satisfactorily on the solid ground near the place Hades and Persephone were standing. The very next moment he was diving head first into darkness, after Stiles, gripping him by an outstretched arm and both of them were falling with Stiles’ face tilted upward towards him etched into a mask of horror as he realised both of them were falling and falling, but then...

His fall was arrested abruptly when his leg was caught by something. Derek’s body jerked in the sudden movement, but he tightened his grip on Stiles and willed him silently not to let go, at any cost.

Then the same something or somebody was hauling him up, along with Stiles and he felt relieved momentarily until Stiles jerked his body violently and both of them looked down.

It was only then Derek noticed them, the shadows that were darker than the darkness below, gnarled and sinister, deformed ghosts from the bowels of the underworld, and they had Stiles by one leg, pulling him down.

“Don’t.let.go.” He gritted out.

“Hurry up...I...can’t...for long.” 

Derek knew that voice and he knew who had grabbed his leg saving their lives, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to feel grateful to the hunter.

With a violent jerk he pulled Stiles upward, but it left him in air momentarily when he released him, but before Stiles could fall down again he had clutched him by both hands, grabbing his upper torso, more securely.

“Hold on Stiles.” He panted.

Suddenly, they were about to be hurled down again as Dean let go of whatever thing he was holding on to, but he still had not left his grip on Derek’s leg.

They jerked to a halt again.

“Derek?” 

“Scott?” Derek felt so relieved, he could kiss the stupid kid for Scott sounded completely healed up. “Can you pull us up?” He yelled.

“That is the plan.” Scott’s voice sounded strained but he had already started hauling them up slowly, millimetre by millimetre, but Derek knew all he had to do was to hold on and that Scott would get them out.

And he almost did, as he felt Dean already climbing up and using both hands by now to pull Derek and Stiles when it happened.

The things which were pulling Stiles had been crawling up towards them, but Derek was too preoccupied with all his focus concentrated on holding on to Stiles and to conserve energy to try to climb up.

It was when Scott and Dean had him by both his feet and he was almost able to feel the horizontal ground beneath his knees when those things lunged at Stiles. Derek could smell them even before he saw them and he wanted to plug his nose for never before in his life he had smelt something so foul. Before he knew, one of them touched him on the chest right over his heart and his entire body went limp. The last thing he saw was Stiles’ face, pale and utterly petrified before his world darkened around him momentarily.

Scott had to wrap his arms around him from behind to keep him from jumping back again. He would have still been unsuccessful if Dean hadn't slapped Derek hard across his face.

Derek looked up dazedly from where he was kneeling down on the ground at the hunter towering over him.

“I said calm the hell down for one moment and let me THINK.” Dean yelled. 

Derek had a feeling he had been saying the same thing over and over for sometime now. He felt numb with dread, but he was out of whatever twilight zone he was roaming thanks to the resounding slap. He took stock of their situation. Scott was healed, but Derek couldn’t help patting him down to see if it was real for the last time he saw the boy he was bleeding to death.

“I am ok dude.” Scott assured him. “The woman healed me.”

Derek looked around. Hades and Persephone were gone and the forest looked normal again. It was daytime and there were no sign of crevices and chasms and no sign of Stiles either.

He hung his head.

“I am so sorry Scott.”

“Who was she?” Scott asked, ignoring his guilt tripping.

“That was Persephone.” Dean answered him. “The man was Hades.”

“What do they want from us?” 

“Me.” Derek answered grimly. “And I am going to agree this time.”

“No fucking way.” Dean barked. “I did not save your ass to go strutting into your death again for that is what will happen if you join Hades. You would be stuck here permanently, as his slave!”

Derek looked Dean up and down suspiciously.

“What has that got to do with you?”

“Have you forgotten this entire clusterfuck took place because I shot you?”

Derek stood up and scowled at the hunter. “Wait, are you really asking me if I have forgotten getting shot dead by a wolfsbane bullet for no apparent reason?”

“You did not die.” Dean scowled right back. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Oh I see.” Derek snarled. “I just decided to take a stroll to the underworld then. Must be the excellent hospitality or wait, the views, it must be the views!”

“Will you stand here all day yelling at me or would you care to start looking for your friend?”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him.

“And you suddenly care for that because?” 

“Unlike you, I am a decent human being!” Dean retorted.

“You have the Mark.”

“It takes some effort but I can control it.” Dean countered, “as I evidently did.”

“Derek, he is right.” Scott intervened. “He kind of saved you both.”

“Not both.” Derek said tightly.

“And whose fault is that?” Dean asked angrily.

“Mine, who else?” Derek looked away.

Dean clammed up and exchanged a glace with Scott. He didn’t expect the wolf to suddenly agree. He was angry and he lashed out but he didn’t really want to imply it was Derek’s fault they lost Stiles. He had seen how he reacted to Stiles falling into the abyss. He had jumped right into it after Stiles without any concern for his personal safety. It was that single act of selfless sacrifice that made him overcome the daze that surrounded him when he used his blade. He had exerted his will-force to the maximum degree when he had jumped after them, stabbing his blade viciously in the loose earth so that it is embedded deep into it, giving him a handle to hang from so that he could stretch out and grab the werewolf by his leg. He willed not to lose himself again during those few moments for he knew how precarious it was to lose control at that point of time. Still it was not enough and if Scott had not been healed and had not hauled them all up using his wolfy strength it could have gone either way. However at least one of the two was ok.

That one was staring off into the horizon, shoulders stiff and face completely closed off right now. Dean sighed.

“Look, I am sorry.” He said.

Derek’s head snapped to him so fast that he winced in sympathy for his neck. 

“What?” He asked incredulously.

“I am sorry, I said that.” Dean elaborated. “It was not your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Derek said darkly. “We need to find him.”

“Of course.” Scott said. “We are not going back without him. But we don’t even know where to look for him.”

All three of them fell silent. They really had no answer to that.

“Did she really heal you?” Derek asked Scott. “Persephone?”

“She did.” Scott said, somewhat awed. That seemed to be the common reaction the deity brought forth. “I think I was unconscious and when I came round, her hand was on my forehead and I opened my eyes to feel completely healed.”

“Where did she go?” Derek wondered.

“She just pointed me to the gorge from the edge of which Dean was hanging and I had no time to see. By the time I reached there his hand was slipping off the handle of the dagger and so I got busy in pulling you guys up.”

“I wish she were here.” Derek mused. “I think she would have helped us.”

“Why don’t you call upon her?” Dean intervened. 

When both Scott and Derek looked at him skeptically, he shrugged. 

“Well, it works with Castiel.”

Derek looked at Scott and shrugged before closing his eyes and trying to imagine her face. But the moment he closed his eyes, it was not Persephone, but Talia Hale who stood there, smiling at him.

“Mom,” Derek was too overwhelmed to say anything else. He had so many questions. He wanted to know if she had really made a bargain with Hades or how she was or if she was happy in the underworld or if Laura had found her, but everything got stuck in his throat. It was not the time.

“Mom, please, we need help.” He said instead.

“Aren’t you asking the wrong people for help?” Her mother quirked one dark eyebrow at him. 

“We don’t have anybody else to help us.”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, none of them are here.” Derek said helplessly. “We are trapped.”

“Persephone cannot help you Derrie.” Talia sounded rueful, “even if she wanted it,” she added. 

“She and Hades had promised each other a long time ago that neither of them would interfere into the affair of the other.”

“But she helped Scott.”

“She just healed Scott and that was not interference.” Talia explained patiently. 

“But she would have you know that you can call for help from your friends. You seem to have quite a few of them.” She smiled.

Derek didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want to disappoint her by saying he didn’t really have a very many people to call friends, but at least some of them would still help him find Stiles, for well, he was Stiles and everybody loved Stiles.

“How do we reach them?”

“You need to get out of here.”

“We are not leaving without Stiles.”

Talia looked at him reproachfully. “Derrie, didn’t I teach you sometimes you need to retreat in order to win?”

That she did. Derek suddenly remembered the special history lessons his mother would impart at their family library. She was an avid reader of history, just like him and would tell him stories of kings and monarchs, civilisation long forgotten as well as the modern ones and would discuss everything from war strategies to stories of famous battles while Derek would listen to her attentively, poring over every word. She would always tell how retreating was not a coward’s strategy and would illustrate it with stories of the invasion of Russia, by Napoléon Bonaparte and centuries later by Adolf Hitler. She would tell him how the enemy got defeated by their over-confidence and how resilience and dogged courage made Russia win the war in both cases.

That seemed a lifetime ago though it had not even been ten years.

“Yes mother.” He said quietly.

“Go back.” Talia said softly. “Trust your friends.”

“But what if it is too late?”

“Then it is late and you cannot do anything about it.” Talia’s voice was firm. 

“I cannot live with that knowledge.” Derek shook his head. “I can’t go back. I am sorry mom.”

Talia sighed. “I was afraid you would say that.”

“Derek!” He opened his eyes at Scott’s voice to find Persephone standing in front of them looking directly at him.

“The things that took Stiles are called the Tartarus. They took him to a place also known as Tartarus.”

Dean inhaled sharply beside them.

“You need to follow the river of Lethe to find Hypnos, the cave of sleep.” She went on.

“You can communicate with your friends in your sleep.”

“How do we find Lethe?” Scott asked.

“Stop searching for it.”

“Wait,” Derek took a step towards her before she could disappear. “Aren’t you going to get into trouble for helping us?”

“I can handle my husband.” Persephone smiled at him. “And to answer the question you are trying hard not to ask, you would never know until you meet her, for real, when you are finally dead.”

She vanished.

“Well, that was helpful.” Dean remarked.

“Isn’t Lethe the river of forgetfulness?” Scott asked.

“Full marks to you for remembering your mythology.” Dean muttered.

“So we need to forget about it to locate it.” Scott scratched the back of his head. “That is...I don’t know how to go about it.”

“The exact word was ‘stop searching’” Derek mused.

“So let us search for something else then.” Scott suggested.

“This boy has some grey matters.” Dean said approvingly. “We can start looking for this cave of Hypnos.”

The three started moving in a random direction. It was clear that nothing in the underworld was actually what it seemed and the direction actually didn’t matter at all for the concept of space or distance didn’t work the same way as in the world of the living. It was the intent that mattered.

“Are we doing the right thing trusting her?” Dean said after sometime.

“I am still considering if we are doing the right thing trusting you.” Derek replied.

“You are too bitter for your own good, kid.”

“Whom are you calling ‘kid’?” Derek demanded.

“You don’t fool me with the facial hair, boy.” Dean smirked. “You may play grown-up, but you are still a kid, just like them, all petulance and misplaced angst.” 

Scott hid a snicker behind his hand.

“When I need advice on how to be a know-it-all adult I would be sure to seek you out.”

“You do that.” Dean nodded sagely. 

“Do you think you can stay silent for two minutes?” Derek looked like he was asking for strength from heaven.

“Nope.” Dean replied instantly. “I love my voice too much.”

“You are so full of yourself!”

“Or you are just jealous.” 

“Jealous...” Derek spluttered, “of you?”

“Guys?” Scott intervened cautiously.

“He started it.” Dean pointed at Derek.

“Scott, are you thinking what I am thinking?” Derek asked Scott with a serious expression.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking what you are thinking that I am sure of?”

Derek took a moment to process it. “I think yes.”

“Hello people?” Dean put one hand in air. “Clueless human here.”

Scott and Derek exchanged glances again and shook their heads simultaneously.

“Definitely Stiles two point zero.” Scott muttered.

“A more delusional version I am sure,” Derek agreed. “For he actually pegs himself as an adult!”

“Still here guys, but sure go ahead and talk about me in front of my...”

All three of them came to an abrupt halt as they looked ahead into the clearing opened up in front of them, in the midst of which a stream flew down, narrow, but with water clear as crystal with a greenish hue.

“...face.” Dean finished lamely.

“I guess we forgot about it enough.” Scott looked at Derek who nodded with a somewhat dazed expression.

“Any cave would be located upstream.” He said pointing to the direction the river seemed to be flowing down from. “That way, I guess.”

The forest soon gave way to a hilly terrain and they trekked in silence. Even Dean was silent for a change.

They had no way to track time, but it must have been a couple of hours when they located the cave at some distance. They reached it soon enough, but then they were faced with a dilemma. The river flew directly from the cave and so the floor of the cave was flooded with the water from the river. But they knew enough about Lethe that they were aware it would be dangerous to touch its water. It was not called the river of oblivion for nothing.

“I am going inside.” Derek broke the silence.

“Derek,” Scott started.

“Don’t even think about it.” Derek warned. “We cannot have you lose your memory. Think what it would do to your mother or to Stiles or to the entire pack.”

“I am coming with you.” Dean said. 

Derek frowned at him, but thought better than arguing over it.

“Fine.” He said and stalked off towards the mouth of the cave.

They didn’t know what to expect once they entered into it, but they both knew to stay away from the water.

Derek crouched down and leapt to a boulder sticking out of the water. He landed gracefully on the top of it where it was completely dry. He looked at Dean expectantly. It was just wide enough for the two of them to get a foothold. 

Dean backed up a few steps. Then he took a couple of strides and jumped, quite not as gracefully as Derek, but he managed to land on it.

Suddenly Dean realised it might not be a good idea for they were so close that Dean had to practically cling to the werewolf's back. And Derek was shirtless and he had this swirling black tattoo between his shoulder blades that Dean had been wanting to touch. Before he knew anything Derek had grabbed his wrists and wrapped his hands around his neck. Dean’s face was now almost plastered to the said tattoo.

“Hold on,” Derek said gruffly and gripped Dean’s knees tightly, tucking them close to his body. 

It was like clinging to a furnace. His mind was busy squealing how hot the wolf was, both literally and figuratively.

Dean was so screwed!

Derek leapt through the air again with Dean clinging to his torso like a monkey and landed on another piece of rock, a bit wider this time, almost dividing the steam into two.

Dean left his choke-hold on Derek immediately and put as much distance between them as possible.

“What now?” He asked Derek who was eyeing him warily.

“I guess we sleep.” He shrugged. “But if you try to kill me I will shred you into nice, little ribbons.”

“Do the threats come naturally with the territory or is it purely you?”

Derek gave him a look. 

“Sleep." Dean conceded quickly. "Got it."

“We need to talk with the pack.” Derek looked around, trying to assess the best position. “Hopefully with your brother too.”

Dean was already feeling drowsy. He didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the effect of the cave. It was shady and cool and in spite of the danger lurking in form of the river water it was undeniably peaceful. He curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut. Derek, presumably did the same for their backsides were touching which was a given fact because of the lack of space. Dean tried to ignore how good it felt, the welcoming warmth coming from the bare skin of the wolf and how natural it seemed, curling into sleep with their back to each other, when just a while ago they were mortal enemies.

Dean’s chest felt tightened suddenly thinking back on the devastated look on Derek’s face when he realised Stiles was gone.

And he thought this person to be the evil incarnate!

He needed a word with Monty once he got out of this shithole and dig around to find out real facts about this guy before hastily jumping into conclusions, yet again.

“I wouldn’t, you know.” Dean muttered quietly, knowing Derek would be able to hear him. “Murder you in your sleep.”

“Good to know.” Derek said. “You better try that when I am wide awake.”

“You are an asshole.” Dean said without heat. “You know that right?”

“Go to sleep Dean.” Derek replied. "And try not to fall down. Much."

If Dean’s lips curved up at that, nobody was any wiser.

...

Derek’s face was impassive which Dean thought was pretty impressive under the circumstances. Next time he was going to Vegas he would be taking Derek. Together they would rock the poker table.

He had met the man first time when he had pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and asked a couple of questions on their first day at BH regarding their stay at the town before letting them go. It seemed a routine check-up before they met the man at Uncle Chris’ place again. He had not spoken to them but the way his eyes roved over them with a shrewd and assessing gaze, Dean just knew the Sheriff was ‘in the know.’ But he hadn't realised how far he was really invested into the supernatural world before Derek explained that they would have to inform the parent at some point.

Communicating in dreams was fun. They found themselves at the familiar crossroad at BH and the funny thing was that, even though it looked very realistic, they were aware it was a dream. Then they just needed to think of somebody together and they could invade his dream. One single problem was that they wouldn’t succeed if the person was not asleep and dreaming.

So, it had to be somebody known to both of them. They had tried Chris and failed. Sammy was not available either.

So the Sheriff, it was, that they tried to communicate with the next and to their surprise, they found themselves in the empty police station almost immediately after they closed their eyes.

“Derek?” The Sheriff stood up as they entered into his office. It was a loaded question and the way his forehead was scrunched in worry, Dean knew that the Sheriff knew something was amiss.

“Try to soften the blow as much as possible.” Derek whispered under his breath. “It is his only son.” 

“Hey Sheriff,” Dean approached the older man jauntily as he walked round his desk to meet them halfway.

“Your son went down to the underworld and got kidnapped by the Tartarus.”

“Or we could blurt it out like that!” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly resigned.

The sheriff stared at them for a few moments.

Dean squirmed uncomfortably. It was the strong and steady gaze of a person who was thoroughly good and took no bullshit from anybody.

“Start from the beginning.” Sheriff Stilinski spoke finally. “And for God’s sake Derek, stop looking like a kicked puppy already.” He scolded. “I know my son and whatever the idiot had done this time, I am sure it was his own decision.”

Dean was in love, or he might be fanboying.


	13. Chapter 13

The fire was startlingly real, so much so that, Sam (a full-grown one and not a baby playing in the crib) standing right in the middle of the room was about to be devoured by it.

Dean tried to yell at him but no sound escaped his throat. Sam was completely still and was looking at him through the smoke and the blaze with sad eyes, like he had already given up hope. 

Dean started stalking forward, but it seemed there was an invisible glass wall in between them and no matter how much he struggled he could not move closer to Sam.

Then the fire started licking away at Sam’s clothes and at his bare skin. Sam flinched but held his ground, never taking his eyes off his brother.

In any minute now there would be nothing but cinders left.

Dean reached for his blade to slash away if possible through the barrier.

He had to get to him...he had to...

Dean slashed blindly and his blade found something solid and it got caught.

Then he was slipping...

Except for his fall was arrested by a hand though there was something wrong with it. The fingers of the said hand were not quite human and he felt rather than saw it.

Dean was jerked into full wakefulness. 

The first thing of immediate importance was that he had slipped down the slope of the rock they had been sleeping on and his right leg was dangling mere inches from the river water.

Lethe, he remembered, the water of which would mean complete oblivion and a possible loss of the self.

The next thing he noticed what was preventing him from slipping into the river was a wolfed-out Derek. His clawed hand had grabbed him and now was in the process of dragging him up to their relatively secure position.

The last and the most vital thing could only be seen after he was settled down again on the flat surface of the rock. His demon blade was sticking out of Derek’s shoulder and the werewolf was trying to (unsuccessfully) pull it out.

Well...oops!

Dean cleared his throat. Derek glared at him, though with glowy, electric-blue eyes, glowering seemed to be his default expression.

Dean gaped, for damn the eyes were pretty though, but then he made himself focus, for holy shit there were actual fangs, sharp and glistening; too close to his own face for comfort.

“That doesn’t look much fun!” He tried to go for casual, pointing at the blade.

“No?” Derek said through gritted teeth, correction, fangs! “I rather enjoy being the human equivalent to a pincushion.” Dean would give it to Derek that even excruciating pain couldn't put a damper on his penchant for sarcasm.

“You are not strictly human.” He couldn't help pointing out.

To Derek’s silent but incredulous stare he hastily amended, “but I would still help you, if you promise not to skewer me with your claws the moment it comes out.”

“I can promise you I am going to push you into the river in the next three seconds if you don’t pull it out.” Derek snarled around a mouthful of fangs though the effect was somewhat lost because he winced in pain when even a slightest movement of muscles caused the blade dig deeper into his flesh.

“Ok, ok.” Dean tried to appease the increasingly hostile wolf. He must have drifted apart from Derek in the dream-world and had ended up re-visiting an old nightmare. He must have stabbed him while slashing though the air wildly and Derek couldn’t take it out for none other than him could wield the First Blade let alone touch it. He should probably consider himself lucky the wolf hadn’t slashed his throat there and then.

He grabbed the handle of the blade and freed it from Derek’s flesh in one jerky movement. 

Derek immediately pounced on him, pinning his bladed hand above his head while his other hand was wrapped around his neck.

He was not fully wolfed-out like before, but his eyes were still glowing and the fangs were very much there, though much shorter in length than before.

That was a small consolation though.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now.” Derek growled. “This is the second time you tried to kill me.” Dean knew that at that moment the wolf was seriously considering it for his eyes were cold and completely devoid of any emotion.

“Why didn’t you let me fall into the stream?” Dean asked instead of answering the question for he really didn’t have any excuse this time. How could he say his nightmares were becoming so vivid of late that he was having a hard time distinguishing it from the reality? The werewolf would probably laugh him in his face. The guy was like a brick wall and he probably only dreamt of working out, in his jeans (!), all sweaty and stuff and never knew about nightmares. Hell, he was a werewolf. He WAS the nightmare, a living and breathing one.

For less than a second a flicker of something passed over Derek’s cold, hard expression that looked like uncertainty but Dean couldn’t be sure.

“It doesn’t matter.” Derek shook his head and his claws dug deeper into his vulnerable, human flesh.

His hunter instinct kicked in defeating the unnecessary and wholly unexpected guilt that had washed over him while watching the wolf in pain again. He tried to move sideways to dislodge or at least somehow dis-balance the wolf pinning him down, but Derek’s body was like a solid mass of rock above him. 

Time to invoke the Mark then for while Dean appreciated the incredible hotness of a wolf with freaking blue eyes pinning him down and he agreed it to be the stuff wet-dreams are made of, he didn’t really appreciate being threatened.

His eyes went pitch black and he flipped their position almost effortlessly.

...

When Scott’s head jerked up, he was not sure at first what woke him up, although he was half ashamed to have fallen asleep in the enemy territory when his best friend needed their urgent help. He took in his surroundings groggily. The light was still the same as before, as if time hadn’t passed at all, though it should be more than an hour since they had reached the cave of Hypnos and Derek and Dean had disappeared inside. Scott could only hope they would find some answers or at least ask for and get some help from their friends. He couldn’t imagine what Stiles might be suffering right now. 

He felt it again. Something was not right. He stood bolt upright and peered into the cave. 

Then he heard the screams.

It was Derek.


	14. Chapter 14

Death by fire was his worst nightmare.

Aside from the fact that for a werewolf it meant being trapped in the endless loop of skin and flesh peeling off and healing and peeling off again, literally layer by single layer as the muscles and tissues keep on sprouting new cells and all the while the pain would be unbearable for, well, werewolf again, his lungs would be stronger, his pain-threshold being much higher than an average human’s...there was this little fact what fire did to him.

Not physically at least for he was miles away, safe, in a practice match before the school championship, laughing and jostling along with his friends. That was the last day he touched a basketball, if he didn’t count the one time he intimidated Stiles at the school swimming pool two years ago.

Derek didn’t know until today why Kate spared him. She knew about the match. He had told her about it himself for they were to meet later that day for a quick lunch and a movie. What bothered him was Kate knew exactly where he was when she had set fire at the Hale house.

Laura staying back at her friend’s place for her car broke down was a mere fluke.

Derek knew Kate had left him alive for a reason...to burn in a fire of a different kind.

Death by fire was his worst nightmare, but living with the memory of it was even worse.

And when both of these two fires mixed, the agony was beyond his supernatural endurance.

Dean’s blade, used with the intent to hurt and to incapacitate did not make him bleed. It was just a nick in the middle of his chest in comparison to the deep gash on his shoulder but it set his flesh on fire though there was no physical manifestation of it and it flooded his brain with the memory, preternaturally vivid, memory that he shouldn’t even have for he had never witnessed the fire.

The physical pain was almost nothing compared to the fact that he was forced to watch his family burn, again.

“Please make it stop,” he begged, for the first time in his life, to a hunter.

The fire blazed with a vengeance, almost drowning the screams of the people trapped inside.

“Make it stop,” he gasped, clawing at thin air.

“Stay still, Goddamn it...” a voice snapped above him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No...” Derek wanted to jump right into it even though he was aware he could do nothing except for being the mute witness. 

“I am trying to...” The voice spoke again. “STAY.STILL.”

Derek wanted to whimper, but he gritted his teeth and stopped thrashing around even if the pain was unbearable.

He felt a weight shifting off him and suddenly his vision cleared. He was not surrounded by fire and smoke anymore. The burning sensation had also receded and it was only his shoulder that was still hurting.

He opened one eye, tentatively.

The hunter was sitting on his haunches staring into his face intently.

“Don’t try to kill me ever.” He said hotly. “It was a bad idea.”

Derek sat up wincing at the pain in his shoulder. The wound from Dean's previous blow was not healing and blood was still oozing out of it.

“Easier said than done.” He muttered under his breath.

“What is so difficult in not being a stubborn ass for a minute, huh?” The hunter said angrily. There was something else underneath his anger. He was looking way too pissed off and it looked like he was overcompensating.

Derek looked him in the eye. “You have to try to stop killing me then.”

“I...” Dean started and then looked away.

“What did you do to me?” Derek asked angrily.

The hunter looked back at him and only then Derek could pinpoint the feeling he was trying to mask with anger. It was guilt, pure, unadulterated guilt. Derek was intimately familiar with the sentiment.

“What did you see,” Dean asked and his voice was a hushed whisper, "when you were there? What did I make you see?"

“What does it matter?” Derek snapped. “Just tell me what exactly you did to me.”

“I might have stepped into the hell and took you there for a moment or two.”

Derek stared.

“You are kidding right?”

Dean sighed, looking away again.

“You are not kidding.”

“I am sorry.” Dean said and he actually looked contrite. “It is only that I don’t really take well to outright threats. It is a reflex action.” Then he added with a half-smirk, “and dude you did have honest-to-God fangs. Do you have any idea how scary you are up-close except for your eyes maybe. Your eyes are just pretty.” He rambled.

Derek shook his head exasperatedly.

“Dean,” he said patiently, “You shouldn’t call a werewolf pretty.” Somehow Dean’s name rolled off his tongue so effortlessly it was like he had been uttering it for a long time.

“Well, you are very pretty.” Dean scoffed. “Deal with it, ok?”

“You shouldn’t hit on a werewolf who is barely holding back from killing you either.” Derek said with the same patient tone, like he was talking to a child. It made Dean’s hackles rise. 

“In your dreams grump-puss.” 

Derek’s eyes narrowed.

“How did you snap out of it?” Derek suddenly asked.

Dean’s jaw worked.

“I know it is not easy.” Derek pushed on. “The longer you wear the Mark the darker your mind will become.” He said. “Soon you would not be able to distinguish between a friend and an enemy. Even now you have only a tenuous control. I can feel you are a completely different person when you are under its spell.”

Dean's eyes widened and if Derek didn't know better he would say the hunter looked almost vulnerable.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled. He only knew that he almost never apologized, but for some reason his mouth formed the words anyway. He only knew something in him snapped every time the wolf seemed to be in pain. Something in the wolf called to his blood like a fucking siren and he was helpless to resist. He should have been dead. Nobody had ever survived when he lost control like that. He hadn't been able to just switch it off like this before. 

This time, as the wolf lay writhing in agony under him he clawed his way out of the haze that surrounded him and he made his hand still, he tried to rein in the darkness, with a supreme effort. And he was successful.

He knew how but he didn't know why.

“I don’t know, ok?” Dean snapped again irritably. 

Derek held his gaze.

It was a fucking irritating habit, Dean decided, the silent stare. It was unnerving to say the least.

"I was in control ok. I just wanted to scare you off." Dean protested. 

Derek raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“You caught me off-guard with the fangs and the claws and the whole rawwwwr...” Dean made claw-hands and waved in front of Derek’s face. “I summoned the Mark for I had no chance against you as a human. You would have crushed me like an annoying bug.”

“Contrary to the popular belief,” Derek said wryly, “I am really not a killer on the rampage. I only killed two people in my life so far and the second one totally had it coming.”

“What about the first one.”

Derek’s eyes flashed electric-blue.

“Don’t.ask.”

“Derek...I swear to God if you don’t answer...” Scott’s frantic voice echoed through the cave.

Dean sighed. “You should really answer him. He has been shouting himself hoarse for sometime now.”

“I am ok.” Derek shouted back. “We are coming out.”

“You really, really should...something is out here...” Scott yelled back.

The wolf and the hunter exchanged worried glances.

“What now!” Dean sighed.

Derek rolled his eyes (another really annoying habit if you ask Dean) and grabbed Dean without warning, wrapping his arms around his neck once again.

“You are really hot.” Dean commented, mostly to tick him off.

“Shut up.” Derek growled as he held Dean tighter and made the leap to the dry piece of rock at the mouth of the cave.

“So romantic.” Dean mumbled as Derek landed precariously on the small rock on the balls of his feet while balancing Dean’s entire weight on his back.

“I swear to God I am going to drop you.”

“All bark and no bite.”

Dean could physically feel the fury radiating off the wolf and he knew for a fact he wanted to hurl Dean as far away as he could. But he was not suicidal and he knew quite well how essential Dean was to survive the underworld and so he only huffed out an angry breath and take a leap again, this time clearing the stream and landing on the ground with a thud.

“Derek!” 

They were yet to regain their footing when the terrified voice of Scott reached them. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Scott...” Derek yelled, straightening up.

“Derek...they are...everywhere...” 

Derek cocked his head to one side and he immediately took off towards the direction of the forest.

Dean was about to follow him when something hit him in the face. Something winged and grotesque and ugly and it had talons. It had a roughly human shape, though it was smaller, but the wings spanned more than eight feet.

Before it could rip his face off, something removed it from him forcibly and he was left only with minor scratches.

Dean took out his other blade from his boots for he didn’t want to use his First Blade in fear of losing control again.

He cursed under the breath for of course it was the wolf again saving his ass. He had his claws and fangs out. At first the creature seemed confused when faced with the new enemy for it seemed not to expect that kind of resistance from a human. When Derek’s claws almost sawed off half of its wings, it tried to fly away. Even with the torn off wings it almost took Derek off the ground. With a vicious roar Derek plunged his claws deep into its underbelly. The creature snarled and fought back. Dean tried to find and opening to strike but they rolled on the ground closely wrapped up with each other and Dean could only watch. As Derek was getting more and more bloodied by the ferocious talons and Dean was thinking about jumping in, Derek suddenly grabbed its throat bringing it close to his mouth and the next moment there was an inhuman screech and the thing was lying dead on the ground with its throat torn wide open.

Ok, so that was a real thing then.

Dean was never going to joke about the throat-ripping, ever, again!

“What the hell was that?” Derek panted, rising to his feet. His face was human again, but there was crimson blood running down his chin.

Dean averted his eyes and looked at the prone figure on the ground.

“That would be Abezethibod” he whispered. “Or his evil spawn.”

“Good to know.” Derek grimaced.

There was another shriek from the forest similar to the previous one.

“Scott...” Derek took off once again.

The moment they broke through the tree-line they froze for there were at least five of the winged monstrosities attacking Scott who had been trying to fend them off. Derek unsheathed his claws and swung into action immediately. Dean was close behind. His blade had runes etched into it that made it deadly against any supernatural creatures and he was fast on his feet.

The creatures sensed the new threats and swooped on the newcomers with inhuman screeches that sent the two werewolves covering their ears in distress for a few moments. Dean swung his arm to stab one of the creatures viciously that was aiming straight at Scott’s exposed neck. It fell writhing on the ground. The three of them stood back to back as the winged demons attacked them from all sides. 

They swiped, jabbed, parried, with claws and fangs and blade, with whatever strength they got, but the creatures kept attacking relentlessly. There were already two lying dead on the ground but the battle was taking its toll. All three of them were bloody and with the blood-loss along with the fatigue they didn’t know how long they could hold up.

“We need to move.” Scott growled. “Like yesterday.” 

“Tell me something new.” Dean yelled back.

Suddenly he felt a jerk and the ground moved beneath his feet. A searing pain in his shoulders caused him to drop his blade. 

Scott tried to swipe his claws at the demon trying to lift Dean off the ground by sinking its talons into his flesh. It flapped its dark wings rapidly and screeched again. Scott and Derek staggered back and Dean saw his feet leaving the ground. He fought against the iron hold frantically but it only made the demon sink its claws further in, cutting through the muscles and sinews until it hit the bones. Now he couldn’t even move his arms even if he wanted to fight back.

Dean had black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Soon they rose above the tree-line leaving two horrified werewolves staring after him helplessly.

Derek knew it would do nobody any good to just stand there gaping after the creature that carried Dean away, but he could not make himself move.

He stared at the dark spread of wings now only a shadow against a darkening sky.

Something inside him broke, once again.

He knew rationally he shouldn’t even be this affected for he barely knew the hunter and during that brief period of their acquaintance they had tried to kill each other more than once, but somehow it felt as much a kick to the guts as the time Stiles was devoured by the darkness a few hours back.

Derek tipped back his head and howled. He didn’t know why he did it. It was not that his pack was there to pick up the distress in his voice and come for help, but he did it anyway.

Scott joined him without missing a beat.

The somber cry, in perfect harmony rang through the sinister forest, clear as a beacon - a call to arms, a promise and a battle-roar.

The demons were momentarily stunned before they descended on the two of them.


	15. Chapter 15

It felt like the time the Alpha pack attacked Derek at his loft, after the hare-brained plan of Boyd and Isaac of electrocuting them backfired when the first thing they did was to cut off the power-line.

The bitter taste of utter helplessness in the face of inevitable for it was three alphas against one alpha and two inexperienced betas, two mere teenagers for whom Derek was responsible, still clung to his mouth.

But just like then, he knew he had to go down with a fight.

Give them hell, before he was dragged into it kicking and screaming.

And he was prepared to do exactly that, with Scott at his back.

It was poetic in a sense. Was it not what he always wanted, to have somebody at his back while he fought with the enemy, a person who would give his life for him and the other way round, somebody to care for, to die for, to plant both feet on the ground and to fight for, until the last breath?

It came in slow motion at first, the flap of the monster wings, the gleam of the claws, the saliva dropping from the gaping mouth, the beady, hateful eyes, the evil sneer of the blackened lips, the bodies hunched in air, poised for attack, caricature of human figures, grotesque and unnatural...and then it was upon them in a flash.

Derek blocked one particularly vicious sweep at his eyes with his claws.

“Look out for your eyes.” He yelled at Scott who merely grunted, locked in a battle of his own.

They fought and lashed out with claws trying to ignore the pain and the increasing blood-loss, but it was getting more and more difficult to avoid the blows. Any time now, Derek thought, they would be only capable of curling up in a foetal position on the ground while the hell-vultures fed on their flesh.

Suddenly, a combination of smells hit Derek and his head whipped back, trying to trace its source.

“Is that...”

“GET DOWN.”

Scott and Derek dropped on the ground as one as the flash bomb blasted against the tree trunk immediately left to them. Then there was another, just to their right.

The demons screeched above them.

Then came the blessed sound of a shotgun cocking.

“Chris.” Scott tried to get up.

“Stay down.” Came the crisp order, brooking no argument.

Derek and Scott covered their ears as shots rang out above them, from more than one sources along with a curious whooshing sound.

In the sudden lull that followed, the werewolves peered up gingerly.

The first person they saw had Scott scrambling up for it was little Kira, now eyes flashing orange and looking for all the world like a warrior princes with blood smudged across her face, standing in a follow through pose with her gory katana ready in hand. 

Scott collided with her so hard, Derek winced, but then both of them were on the ground and no werewolf nose was required to sense the sweet sense of profound relief emitting from the two teenagers.

Averting his eyes from the show Derek stood up more cautiously, casting his eyes around. All the demons were lying dead on the ground or writhing in pain, being slashed open mercilessly by Kira’s deadly sword.

“Nice pickle you have got yourself into this time Derek.”

Chris stepped out of the treeline, shotgun resting casually on his shoulder and a crossbow hanging from the other.

“No time to chitchat.” Sheriff Stilinski appeared behind him, service revolver in ready in hand. “We need to find my son.”

If Derek had been in the habit, he would probably have thrown a quiet ‘thank you’ to heaven. 

It was a close call though for he didn’t remember a time he was more thankful for the appearance of a certain bunch of people at a given time.

“First I would like know what the hell we are dealing with though.” Chris called out. “What are these...things?”

“Abezethibod.” Derek answered, glaring at one still alive.

He stalked forward and grabbed its throat without preamble.

“Where the hell did they take the other guy?”

The creature laughed, rotten blood gurgling out of its mouth and Derek wanted to flinch back from the putrid smell, but he only tightened his grip and shook the creature.

“Where?” He snarled.

“Dean.” Scott muttered to Chris quietly when he raised his eyebrow questioningly. “They took Dean.”

“We may have a more effective method.” The Sheriff said mildly. “If you don’t mind standing aside.”

Derek left his stronghold on the demon reluctantly and stepped back.

The Sheriff took out a small glass vial and poured a couple of drops of clear liquid on the demon. The moment it came into contact with its skin, there was a hissing sound, like it was burning through his flesh like acid and yellow smoke rose from the wound.

The agonised howl of the demon echoed throughout the forest.

“You would like to try that again?”

“No...” the demon gasped. “Not blessed water. I will tell you everything.”

“Speak.” Derek spat at it crossing his arms.

“They took him to Master.” The demon cringed, as if expecting a blow immediately. “We all answer to the Master.”

“Wait.” Chris intervened. “Abezethibod, the name sounded familiar. Now I remember. He is the guardian of Tartarus where Stiles had been taken.”

“So Dean is also at Tartarus?” Derek looked at Chris who shrugged in answer.

“Master will make you all pay...” the demon hissed at them, voice full of venom.

“How can we reach your Master.” The Sheriff asked.

There was no answer.

“How can we...”

“It is dead.” Derek said.

“Shit.” Scott said under the breath. “Now how do we know which way to go?”

“Did you have time for any research?” Derek asked Chris.

“Why do you think we were late?” Chris retorted. “That and Sammy helped me dunking our weapons in blessed water to make it effective against the demons.”

“I got bullets full of Holy Water.” The Sheriff said, somewhat awed. “I never thought I would see the day!” he raked one hand through his hair.

“Sheriff, I am so sorry -” Derek started.

“Don’t you dare.” The Sheriff cut him off. “You were just trying to save somebody’s life.”

Kira cleared her throat. 

“I think...we should move on.” She said nervously. “This place is sort of giving me the creeps.”

“The whole thing is giving me the creeps.” Scott said wrapping one hand around Kira and dropping a quick kiss on the side of her head. “But I agree with you.”

“Chris?” Derek asked. He had dared not hope much when he and Dean narrated their problems to a flabbergasted Sheriff in the dream world and requested him to ask Chris, Deaton and Sam Winchester for help. He had not even been sure if he would remember it once he woke up. 

Apparently their SOS reached the right ears.

“Tartarus is the lowest level in the underworld.” Chris clarified. “It is sort of a torture dungeon, not unlike the purgatory.”

“How can we find it?” Scott asked.

“We don’t know.” Chris shook his head dejectedly. “It was not on the book. But Deaton found an ancient script describing the only way to get out of the underworld.”

“How?”

“It is pretty cryptic.” Chris paused, trying to remember. “It says something about letting go of an integral piece of oneself, something abstract. It describes some sort of trinity. Three different timelines in a person’s life joined by a common thread need to come together when this person gives away one aspect from each timeline.”

“What will it achieve?” Derek’s brows came together in a puzzled frown.

“Apparently, time stands still in the underworld. Underworld is not exactly a physical entity as it is a concept. So when this person makes a sacrifice from three periods of his timeline, he is forcing the time to twist.”

“Is that even possible?” The Sheriff asked.

“It might be.” Derek replied. “That is where the idea of a different dimension springs from. So as per your research we are simply in a different dimension rather than deep into the earth’s core.”

“That explains why we are not burning to our death.” Kira said.

When the other four turned to look at her she threw her hands in air. “What? It is supposed to be, I don’t know, more than ten thousand degrees near the core of earth.”

Scott gave her a dopey smile.

“I still don’t see how it can help us though.” Derek shook his head, thoroughly frustrated. “And we are running out of precious time.”

“Sorry, it seemed gibberish.” Chris said. “I don’t think it is really very helpful.”

“So the question remains.” The Sheriff huffed. “How to track down my son and your nephew.”

“We can ask the King of the underworld.” Derek suddenly said. “Or probably ask for an exchange.”

“Dude, we need to rescue them.” Scott protested, “but not at your expense.”

“Do you have any other bright idea?” Derek asked impatiently. “Do share!”

Silence greeted him.

“That is what I thought.” He said triumphantly. He should have done it a long time ago. It would have saved them a lot of time (and Dean too, supplied his mind).

“I am amenable to negotiations.”

“Holy God!” Scott jumped back.

“Ok, why didn’t I hear him approaching?” Kira’s eyes widened.

Chris cocked his gun, while the Sheriff leveled his weapon at the new threat.

“You were waiting for the right moment, weren’t you?” Derek frowned at the god angrily.

Hades smirked.

“It is called impeccable timing.”


	16. Chapter 16

One of the three mute figures standing against the wall made Derek gasp in surprise.

“Hello Derek.”Allison greeted him coolly.

She was wearing the same dark blue girly top over her skinny jeans, the same black jacket, the tan combat boots, as the day she died...but she looked anything but girly. The one single item that looked out of place was the shiny gold collar around her neck. All of the three had it, though they couldn’t be more different than chalk and cheese.

One of them was tall and broad, taller and broader than Derek and had tan skin and was dressed like a medieval warrior. His face was set in granite, but his dark eyes took Derek in a way that left no doubt in his mind who the predator in the room was, supernatural strength notwithstanding.

Allison was in the middle, holding her crossbow in a white-knuckled grip other than which she betrayed no emotions. On her left was a short old man, completely bald except for a long tuft of hair at the back of his head that ended in a knot. He was wearing a strange white garment and his bare upper-torso was wrapped up with a piece of clothing from the same material.

Power emanated from all three of them, subtly.

“Derek, meet Alaric.” The large man bowed his head at Hades imperceptibly, barely acknowledging Derek.

“Alaric the Barbarian?” Derek blurted out.

“I much prefer the term Visigoth.” Alaric’s eyes flashed at Derek and he had to suppress the urge to bare his throat.

“This is Kautilya.”

“The king-maker, the writer of Arthashastra...the king of diplomats in Asia and elsewhere.”

“I see that you are well-versed in history.” Kautilya smiled at him.

“I read some of your _slokas_.” Derek said reverently. “In Sanskrit.”

“ _Gatang shoka na kartabyang bhabishyang naiba chintayet_...”

“ _Bartamaanena kalena prabartamante bichakshanang_.” Derek finished breathlessly.

Kautilya’s eyes shone. “Your pronunciation is impeccable son.” He murmured. “I see that you have photographic memory.”

Allison showed the first sign of emotion. She looked at Derek with an expression that almost bordered on awe.

"Is it true?" She asked. 

"It is nothing like that." Derek replied somewhat awkwardly. "I don't easily forget the things that I see or read. It is not a big deal." 

“Well do you remember what it means?” She asked.

“One should not repent the past or worry about the future. It is the present tense that matters and therein lies the wisdom.” Derek recited from memory.

"Wow!" Allison mouthed and she stared at Derek like she was seeing him for the first time. 

“So the introductions are over.” Hades said impatiently. “Now stand beside them and accept the collar.”

“Wait, they are your...”

“The general, the blade and the head, yes of course they are.”

Derek glanced at the three people who had gone back being expressionless.

“Why?” He couldn’t help asking though the word came out in a hushed whisper.

“Oh, they had their reasons.” Hades smirked. “Just like you, the heart, the missing piece of my army.”

“What about my family?” Derek asked.

“You cut a new deal when you traded yourself for your friends.” Hades said impatiently. “So that deal is off the table.”

“Wait, how can I know you have kept your word?” Derek stood his ground. “How can I know Stiles and Dean are out of Tartarus and that all my friends have found safe passage out of here?”

“Because I give you my word.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word at its face value.” Derek frowned at the god.

“You remind me of my uncle Peter." Derek narrowed his eyes at Hades. "Which means I don't trust you one single bit. I need proof that ALL my friends are safe.”

“You are one stubborn wolf.” Hades sighed. “And you are going to pay for this.”

 

...

 

When Dean came round, his first thought was to sink back into unconsciousness. He had been to hell and was tortured on the racks for thirty years. He didn’t know if it was even worse than that, but he only knew the agony was unbearable.

The setting seemed pretty similar. The fire and bleakness and the taste of metal in his mouth, the screaming himself hoarse... But there was somebody else here and he was not alone. Dean exerted supreme willpower to move his head sideways and what he saw almost made him throw up.

Stiles was hanging upside down from what looked like a dead tree. He was pale as death and evidently passed out. They were bloodletting, the dark shadow-like creatures that had drawn him here, thronging around his head, some climbing up the treed to reach various portions of his body; they had made tiny cuts which were bleeding into a vast tub placed right below his head. It was an exquisitely slow torture when death would take hours, days or even a week to come. In the meanwhile, the victims would be given drops of water to drink or even probably some light nourishment so that they didn’t die before their time. In the meanwhile the tiny rivulets of blood will drop down their torso, making gravity work out of the rest. The boy was as good as dead.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the bright amber eyes sparkling with mischief...the lips turned up into naughty smiles...the fearlessness, the intelligence and the sheer gritty courage...it was...too undeserving...too soon...

Something else was wrong. Dean tried to think clearly through the unbearable pain of the flesh of his back getting torn apart mercilessly by invisible blades.

Think...he shouted to himself, moving his hands reflexively to bracket his head.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. He was left untied, unlike hell. Probably they thought him to be too pathetic, but he had no restraints on him. Dean tried to sit up, but an invisible force held him down, tearing his back up further.

Dean screamed and thrashed his legs in utter agony. Then through the haze of pain he tried to move his hand imperceptibly towards his waistband where his First Blade was hidden. Stiles chose this moment to wake up. His eyes opened groggily at first and then he took a good look at his surrounding and started to scream bloody murder, thrashing about wildly. It made him bleed harder. The weight above Dean reduced and it seemed the invisible force had moved onto Stiles for his body suddenly went rigid. His eyes were still open and it was full of horror, but it seemed try as he might he couldn’t move a millimeter.

Dean lunged at him, forgetting his mauled backside.

 

...

 

Scott and others stood rooted to the spot for a few moments after Hades spirited Derek away.

Suddenly Scott fell on his knees. “Please Persephone, we need you.” He murmured earnestly with his hands clasped in prayer. “Please help us.”

“Whom is he calling?” The Sheriff asked raising his eyebrows in bafflement.

“The spring deity.” Chris looked over at Scott critically. “Persephone is Hades’ wife.”

“Please save our friend.” Scott went on. “Please don’t let them die.”

A tinkling laughter answered him and he opened his eyes.

“Well that was amusing.” Persephone turned her dazzling smile upon Scott. “Nobody has prayed to me in centuries.”

“Please help us.” Scott begged. “You must help us.”

“I told you I cannot meddle into my husband’s affair for then he will have an excuse to meddle into mine.”

“But...”

“Trust your brother, your Second, though you were his first, though not born of blood or shared by a bite, but a bond forged with deep affection and sacrifice...trust his judgement and provide him the support that he needs.”

“Brother? Second?” Scott looked utterly puzzled.

“I think she means Derek.” Chris said cautiously. “That he is your Second in command, though you were his first pack-mate after the fire.”

“But...Derek...he refuses me as his alpha.”

“As you refused him,” Persephone’s voice was ever so gentle, “when he needed you the most you turned him down for you thought it was all about power.”

“I didn’t want to bow down to him.” Scott bristled.

“Do you make your betas do that?” Persephone asked pleasantly. “Make your betas bow down to you?”

“No!” Scott looked aghast at the mere idea.

“So why did you assume he would have done it?”

“But he was so...angry all the time and he was so...he was always about killing people!”

“Was he, really?” Persephone said in the same patient tone. “Think about it really hard Scott. Think what he went through just before meeting you and afterwards. Think about the lives that he saved including your own. Judge him by his deeds and not his angry words. Think about the ways he was hurt and betrayed. Think why he of all people is the Heart.”

“But how can it help him now? Or Stiles for that matter?”

“All is related.” Persephone murmured. “The past and the present and the future are all but hanging in a continuous thread. Nothing happens without cause.”

 

...

 

“Why did you tell me to finish that particular _sloka_ among all others?” Derek suddenly turned to Kautilya, ignoring the god.

The old man smiled. His face was dark, scarred with worry-lines and poke-marks, but he exuded an aura of such wisdom that he looked completely otherworldly, even in the dim light of the huge hall Derek had appeared in tow of Hades.

“Maybe you needed to hear it.” He said. "Maybe it is time. Maybe the others are waiting for you to take a decision."

"I am terrible at taking decisions and the others suffer the consequence." 

Kautilya smiled again. 

"Son, reality is made up of so many different tiny factors that it is impossible for one person to influence it that much. Even god in monotheistic cultures is often represented by a trinity." 

Derek started. He remembered Chris' words vividly; sacrificing an aspect of himself...in three different timelines.What if it talked about not one person, but three persons, joined by their past, present and future, sacrificing an aspect of themselves.

What if he was one of those three? Who were the other two? How could he know the other two would sacrifice something as well. It has to be done together and they needed a miracle.

“Trust yourself.” Talia Hale murmured in his ear, invisible.

But it was so very difficult...to let go.

 

...

 

Dean’s blade added to the numerous wounds on Stiles’s body, right on the chest.

The look of shock on Stiles’ face was of such utter betrayal that it was worse than all the torture Dean suffered at hell. But the next moment, only the tattered remains of the ropes that bound Stiles remained. Dean had successfully sent him away – to a place where he would neither bleed to death, nor tortured out of his mind.

The invisible force gathered around him. Dean could feel it from the way goosebumps rose on his arms, the sudden sucking in of air from behind, followed by the appearance of a huge looming shadow.

Dean turned back, ever so slowly. He had no qualms in admitting he shrieked in horror...

 

...

 

Derek dredged up the last ounce of his will-force to fight down the belief that almost held him together. He looked at Allison in the eyes.

“You can do it Derek.” She whispered. “Tell Stiles I would do it again. For him.”

“YOU made him free of the Nogitsune?” Derek stared at her.

“That was my condition.”

“But there is always a string attached.” She said bitterly. “He was free, but so was the Nogitsune. Unfortunately I had already worn the collar. I fell for the trick.”

“Quiet.” Hades yelled. Allison’s figure began to flicker on and off, like the bad transmission of a television.

“Please tell Scott...” Allison disappeared into a puff of smoke.

“We will back come for you.” Derek promised, for a brave person like her didn’t deserve this. He was answered by a watery laugh, though there was no visible sign of Allison.

Derek held onto that thought. She did not deserve it...neither did he. He deserved none of the things done to him...Peter leading him astray, Kate seducing him, his family’s death, Laura’s death, Peter again, the constant accusation of being a failure...the accusation of being a monster, a killer, less than a human being.

“I give up blaming myself.” Derek whispered, picturing Scott and for some reason the crazy hunter Winchester in his head.

 

...

 

“I give up blaming Derek for everything. Even though I think I don’t do it anymore, I probably do. That is how my thoughts are conditioned. But no more.” Scott whispered with eyes closed.

“I absolve Derek of all blames. He was not the one who ruined my life. He saved me. I give up thinking him a bad person.”

 

...

 

Dean closed his eyes and for some reason all he could think of while facing a terrifying death was a pair of startling hazel-green eyes that changed colour with light...

“It is time.” The man whispered, with a smile on his lips, the kind of smile that he wore when Dean opened the door of his apartment to a stranger for the first time, before it all went up in flames, before they deemed each other to be mortal enemies.

The huge monster’s hand was poised to strike him down. His eyes were burning coal and his very breath was fire. His wings spread over his head that could cast shadow on the entire Beacon Hills and Dean stood there helpless.

“Come on.” The hazel eyes sparkled with mischief...so open and friendly...not like the brooding shadow of a man he had encountered so far.

“What are you waiting for?” The dream-Derek extended a hand. He was faintly glowing. He could have been an angel with a bare torso and distressed jeans, for Dean had never seen any being supernatural or otherwise so ethereally beautiful.

“You cannot be evil.” Dean whispered, forgetting his imminent death, the ferocious heat on his skin that was approaching the burning point.

He felt oblivious.

Derek grinned, showing his uneven teeth. There were dimples on his cheeks. Dean wanted to rake his hands through the wild raven hair.

“You are not evil. You cannot be anything but good.” Dean whispered reverently.

“Say that you give up then.” Derek teased.

“I give up.” Dean smiled in spite of him.

“I give up mistrusting you. You will never hurt me. You can never hurt me.”


	17. Chapter 17

The five of them woke up at the feet of nemeton, breaking through the shallow pool of water.

Lydia, Deaton and Malia were onto them immediately, assisting them out of the metal tubs.

Lydia and Deaton’s phones went off simultaneously.

“Yes.” Deaton asked.

“Hello Liam.” Lydia listened attentively.

Both disconnected and looked at each other, too tired to smile.

“What is it?” The Sheriff asked, getting over a fit of coughing.

“Derek has woken up at the animal shelter.”

“How?” Chris asked. “How did it happen? Was it related to what you were saying about giving up something of yourself?” The last part was directed towards Scott.

“I guess.” He said a little bit dazed. “I gave up something and I think Derek did it too. I almost felt him urging me on though I had no idea where he was.”

“So it is not three aspects of the same man but three people.” Deaton immediately caught up.

“But who is the third one?”

“That would be me.” Dean raised his hand sheepishly.

“And here is where I need to confess I made a terrible mistake. I swear I didn’t know we were about the get out. I just acted upon instinct.”

“What did you do?” The Sheriff glared at him. Then he looked around. “Wait, why is Stiles not up yet?”

“He was being tortured horrifically.” Dean said sheepishly. “Isenthimtothelimbo.”

“You did what?” The Sheriff thundered.

“I sent him to the limbo.” Dean cleared his throat. “It was the safer option I swear.”

Deaton actually face-palmed.

...

“So...”

“When a dimension folds upon itself it throws away things that don’t belong there like discarded objects.” Deaton explained calmly.

“What kind of crazy theory is that?” The Sheriff mumbled.

“That is how magic works. It is called magic because it is beyond human understanding. Probably there is a scientific logic behind it. If humans ever discover that, there would be no magic and no supernatural.”

“Empty promises.” Dean muttered.

“You shut the hell up.” Derek growled. “First you managed to send me to the underworld and now you have sent Stiles to limbo. I swear to God if I don’t...”

The Sheriff put himself bodily between the two.

“Hey now, don’t be like that. He was only trying to help.”

“Help? Help???” Derek looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

“By sending a defenseless, human boy to the fucking limbo?”

Dean was mortified as it was of the inexplicable little day-dream he had of the werewolf and he had no explanation for it.

He only knew he was somehow related to Derek for all three of them, Scott, Derek and Dean had brought forth the proverbial ‘twist in time’ in order to rescue themselves from the underworld. They shared something in common, though Dean had no idea what.

He felt thankful nobody had ever asked him what he gave up for right now he could easily believe Derek would happily rip out his throat.

Right now, standing in Derek’s Spartan loft in broad daylight, with people thronging around, it was hard to believe he had become so sentimental suddenly and he felt not a little bit guilty it was Derek whom he dreamed about (or whatever the hell it was) while the end was nigh and not his little brother, not even Castiel.

“We are going to rescue him from there.” Dean said with forced calm. “Just like we rescued you, princess.”

“We lost almost half the pack in the process.” Derek yelled at him. “In what universe do you call that rescuing?”

“In the universe we had all come out unscathed.” Dean retorted. 

Derek looked at Dean pointedly.

“Well...mostly.” He mumbled. His back was killing him for even though all the others had escaped the underworld without a mark on their body, the vicious cuts on his back made by Abezethibod was still there and blood was oozing out of it, copiously.

Deaton had offered to take a look, but right now there was a more pressing business at hand, namely placating a snarling hulk of a werewolf.

“What about Stiles?” Derek gritted his teeth.

“We.will.take.him.out.” Dean was toe-to-toe with Derek now, hand poised on the hilt of his revolver.

“Ah...guys,” Sam cleared his throat.

“What?” Both Derek and Dean turned their glares on the younger Winchester who was trying to shrink his giant frame into possible invisibility.

“What he means is that take your flirting elsewhere if you cannot contribute to the plan.” Lydia threw her hands in air exasperatedly.

“Flir...what???” Derek stared at her incredulously.

Lydia rolled her eyes.

Scott tried to turn his snickering into a violent bout of cough as Derek turned his glare on him.

“Ok,” the Sheriff clapped awkwardly. “Let us do this. I guess.”

“Dean?” Chris called out.

“Yeah,” Dean shuffled awkwardly. “So I may need to cut you a bit with my knife.”

“And here we go again!” Derek tipped his head skyward.

...

“Don’t move.” 

Dean turned his head to see Derek’s back turned towards him while he moved across the loft.

Others have pretty much left to attend to their respective business. The teenagers were the first to leave and the Sheriff had returned to his station to wrap up pending works. Sam hesitated at the door before leaving with Chris and Deaton for further research.

It was evident Derek was talking to him, but Dean had no idea why.

“Go,” he mouthed his brother. “I will be alright.”

Sam flicked a nervous glance towards the direction Derek had disappeared and at Dean and nodded.

“I have left the Impala in the parking lot. Still call me if you need me.”

“I don’t think he is in the mood of killing and maiming.” Dean muttered. “Much.”

“Ok.” Sam conceded. “Take care.”

Dean exhaled a breath he was not aware he was holding as the loft door closed and he was left alone with the wolf, who was stalking towards him now, with brows drawn down in irritation.

Dean gulped.

At least he was not running around half-naked now, thank God for the small mercies, but was wearing a grey wife-beater, which in Dean's humble opinion was not much of an improvement.

There was power in every movement, coiled like a tight spring, there was a tension in the shoulders and an unreadable expression in the hazel eyes – Dean didn’t know what to do with all these and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the stark silence and that they were alone in the den of the wolf.

“Go to the couch.” Derek said and the words came out angrily.

Dean complied because if anything he was getting really curious now.

“Lie down on your stomach.” Derek said in the same tone and Dean jumped for he was closer than he anticipated. “I am going to take care of it.”

Dean would not admit this in a million year but the rough command had him strangely turned on. Dean didn’t even know it was a kink that he had. He didn’t know a lot of things about himself before meeting the wolf.

“Wow, you sure don’t waste your time!” Dean whistled to cover his sudden nerves.

Derek went beet-red instantly.

In any other circumstances Dean should have found it hilarious. Hilarious and...pretty...always so very pretty.

“Take care of your wounds,” Derek sounded furious. “Christ!”

“Oh,” Dean didn’t know if he felt disappointed or relieved.

“Take off your shirt first.” Derek ordered.

“Nope,” Dean shook his head. “I don’t think my virtue is safe with you.”

Derek made a snorting sound, midway between a laughter and an embarrassed groan.

“Will you take it off or do I need to claw it off your back?” Derek said sternly. “Your choice.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Dean smirked to himself as the tips of Derek’s ears turned pink again.

He took off his shirt and lay down on the dark leather couch. The leather was soft and expensive. All the furniture, in fact, in the loft, looked like they were handpicked and carefully chosen rather than picked up randomly in a lot from IKEA. Dean didn’t expect a wolf’s den to be so tasteful. It was a long way from their bunker.

Derek of all people he had known so far gave off the vibe of a soldier-type ascetic who didn’t give a shit about the thread-count of his cotton sheet. Apparently he did!

Dean flinched at the first contact. Derek was very careful though, careful and inordinately gentle as he disinfected the wounds with a cotton ball.

Dean bit down his lip to stop any whimper from escaping for it was hell-revisited for him.

Suddenly there was a hand cupping his neck. It was not forceful, but it was weighty, like an anchor and immediately, some of the pain was gone, leaving him somewhat boneless.

“How...” Dean tried to find his voice through the haze of the sudden onslaught of endorphin in his system. “How come you have a first-aid box. You surely don’t need it.”

“I keep one after I got injured by the oni, during what we call the Nogitsune incident.” Derek muttered. “Apparently I got possessed when it got into my body through an open wound.”

Then he added in a more haunting voice: “I almost set Chris on fire.”

Derek had moved onto the antiseptic and it had stopped burning altogether. Dean didn’t know how it was possible for the gashes were really deep, some reaching his bones.

“Chris left you alive after that?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Yeah. He...he somehow figured out it was not me.” Derek’s voice had gone quiet and Dean had the feeling it was another of those incidents Derek still beat himself up for. Like he somehow believed Chris would have been well within his rights to blow his brains off and Derek would have understood, which was so wrong. And Dean felt such a sudden overwhelming protectiveness over Derek, over the fact that he should still be hurting over something he had no control over, something which was basically not his fault anyway, that he suddenly had the urge to hug the wolf or probably wrap him up in a blanket and offer him hot chocolate. Dean doubted anybody ever did that to Derek. 

He settled for a verbal reassurance instead, because Dean couldn't just let him think like that. "I am glad he didn't kill you." He said. 

Dean could almost hear Derek's judgey eyebrows go up, but he didn't comment on the complete 180 degree. Dean would probably have said something more, at least try to explain why he thought the wolf was too hard on himself, but with the steady rhythm of Derek’s fingers on his back, the heavy weight of Derek’s hand on his neck and the bloody feel-good hormones flooding his system it was getting increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.

“Why am I not in pain...” Dean slurred.

Derek froze for a second. 

“It is...I am taking away your pain.” He said quietly, hesitatingly, his voice sounding far younger and entirely different from when he was throwing commands at him. “If that is alright.”

“Oh knock yourself out.” Dean smiled dopeyly.

He was not foolish enough to refuse such wonderful magic pain-med.

“I will...” he slurred, “just lie...here...sleep.”

Dean felt Derek stiffened up beside him and then relaxed by degrees again.

“Ok,” he said softly, after a few moments.

“Derek...” he twisted his head to look at the werewolf in the eyes. Derek was on his knees, making his face much closer to his eye-level than Dean anticipated and his breathing hitched as it collided with the hazel-green.

“You...you are...you are...”

Dean’s head fell into the couch as he passed out from exhaustion and the endorphin.

Derek shook his head and finished tending the wounds, draping soft cotton gauze on them without waking up the hunter.

He was about to stand up while Dean’s hand shoot out and pawed at his shirt blindly.

Derek rolled his eyes, but he lifted Dean’s head gingerly and sat down, placing his head sideways on his left thigh.

He was settled down comfortably with a book while Scott barged into the loft.

“Derek have you s...” Scott stopped short in his track. “Oh.” He said softly.

“What?” Derek asked roughly.

“Ahem,” Scott cleared his throat, pointedly looking towards the ceiling.

“What now?” Derek said tiredly.

Scott met his eyes and looked down deliberately where he had his hand combing through Dean’s soft brown hair and he was completely oblivious of the action, until now.

Derek dropped the hand like he was burned, glaring at the offending limb.

When Dean woke up after six hours, completely refreshed, Derek was nowhere to be seen.


	18. Chapter 18

“OK, so why are you two not tearing each other’s clothes already?”

“Stiles,” Derek said tiredly, “I really don’t have the time for this.”

“Dude.”

“Don’t.”

“Come on man. It is rude to leave him hanging.”

“What the HELL are you even talking about?”

“Dean fucking Winchester who has been looking at you, a certified born werewolf, creatures he is trained to kill on sight, like you hung the moon. When are you going to ask him out?”

“No.”

“How eloquent of you. Why ‘no’? He is crazy hot, almost as hot as you are. Like he is a forest fire to your volcano.”

“Stiles...”

“Only you can say my name with so many different variations.” Stiles smirked.

“Will you go away if I pretend I cannot hear you?”

“But it is a legitimate question.” Stiles pouted.

“What?” Derek said irritably, regretting it instantly.

“Aren’t you really a little bit tempted to tap that hotness or are you not into guys? In that case it is really a pity. I mean you have only dated women so far as I know, but I really don’t know you that well which is really odd given the fact that we have saved each other’s ass so many times. So, I wouldn’t know if you are straight as arrow or...”

“It is not that.” Derek decided to interrupt Stiles’ rambling before he ran out of breath, which was a distinct possibility. 

He paused before elaborating, biting down his lip to think about it before explaining. 

“Well, first of all I don’t care about looks, not anymore.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, puzzled. “You are hot. It is obvious you would want to hang out with somebody who can at least be in your league in the looks department.”

Derek frowned for there was an undercurrent of hurt below the seemingly innocent observation, but he decided not to think much about it, for now. Instead he took his time to try to answer Stiles’ question as honestly as possible. 

“It is only the outward form, which is ephemeral and also it may deceive the eyes.” Derek paused. “Both Kate and Jenifer were very attractive. I fell for them. I couldn’t...see their inner darkness.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully and Derek went back to the book he was reading on the Mark of Cain. He had taken it out along with some other books on demons and the concept of hell and purgatory from their family vault under the Beacon Hills High. It was time he started his own research since their go-to man for research was..................wait a minute!

Derek was sitting cross-legged on the bed with books strewn all around him and one opened on his lap. Stiles had been hovering near the window by the right side of the bed. Derek closed his book carefully. He could still see Stiles fidgeting nervously at his peripheral vision. He crawled down from the bed and took a couple of steps casually towards Stiles without blatantly staring.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, nervously.

Derek's eyes traveled slowly from the floor towards the place Stiles was standing. He was half scared what he would see.

As it turned out there was nothing to see for the lights went out.

Derek froze.

“Stiles!” 

Something was very wrong for he could not see or smell or hear (and he noticed that only now) a single thing. It was like he was human again.

“Tell me something big guy.” Stiles’ voice came to him from the opposite side of the room. It was the same mixture of snark and reluctant affection that always seemed to colour his tone while calling Derek in different ridiculous names. Derek, to his astonishment, didn’t actually mind as much as he thought he should.

This time it was different though.

“Would you have fallen for me if I were older?”

Derek squinted into the darkness trying to make out the outline of his figure, but it was a wasted effort. He reached into his pocket for the ever-present lighter, but found himself wearing track-pants.

Then he remembered going to bed after a long run through the preserve and coming back to the loft after two o’ clock in the morning. He remembered taking out his frustration on a poor tree because time was running out and they had wasted an entire day researching while Derek just wanted to jump into the fucking limbo already and face whatever was there head on.

He remembered to try to sleep, but ending up tossing and turning on his bed.

“Stiles,” he tried again, tentatively. “Is that you?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Stiles said and this time his voice was flat.

“Why don’t you answer mine first?” Derek coaxed, while backing up towards the door, slowly.

“Do you know how it feels like to be the only human running with mythical creatures?” Stiles said from the same spot. “It feels like shit. To watch your best friend become popular overnight and get the girl of his dream and to watch the girl you are in love with forever to fall for one undeserving jackass after the other? Do you...do you have any idea? I guess not...for you too were like that? Were you not? Do you know why I still refused the bite that Peter offered me?”

“When did Peter offer you the bite?” Derek couldn’t help the sudden rush of concern. He didn’t like the idea of Peter's fangs or any part of his body for that matter anywhere near Stiles one single bit.

“See,” Stiles laughed. It was not a happy laugh. It was bitter and sharp, like a slap in the face. “You don’t even know about it. I bet you don’t know how Gerard beat the crap out of me either.”

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek asked, trying his best to keep his voice calm. "I know you are not here."

It got eerily quiet all around him. It felt the very air had stood still. Goosebumps rose on his skin and it was not even cold.

Derek tried to use his senses again, but there was nothing, no sound, no smell and without them he was flying blind, quite literally.

“Stiles,” Derek tried again, “please tell me where you are. I will find you, I promise.”

Silence greeted him, but there was this feeling of something pressing closer. Outwardly, he could feel nothing, but he had this insane urge to back out of the room, right at this instant.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered into the darkness feeling oddly vulnerable.

He took three steps back. Half a step and he should be able to reach the door.

His back hit the solid wall instead.

...

“Sam, wake up,” 

“Go...away.”

“Sammy, come on...”

“No.”

“I am leaving without you.”

“Go to hell.”

“Very, very poor choice of words!”

“Why?” Sam whined, rubbing sleep off his eyes and scowled at his older brother standing over him fully clothed. Between Derek getting shot and Dean’s little adventure to the underworld and researching the shit out of everything related to limbo he had been awake for more than fifty hours at a stretch. It had been only a couple of hours that he had called it quits deciding his body couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Cas has a feeling...”

“Oh don’t start with Cas’ feelings,” Sam dug deeper into his pillow, “give him a pie.”

“A pie!”

“Or a burger or the frozen pizza that is rotting in the fridge. Pepperoni makes him happy.” Sam mumbled sleepily.

“Sammy...”

Sam opened one eye and glanced at his brother again who was scowling down at him. He sat up slowly. 

This looked serious.

“What is it?”  


“I sense demonic activity. Here is Beacon Hills.” It was Castiel who answered. He still looked pale and drawn, but he was fully dressed in his ridiculous trench-coat and there was that dogged look in his eyes which meant he was going to march into some kind of danger even though he was almost completely human by now.

Sam sighed.

“Whatever it is, can it wait until I put on some clothes.” He was wearing sweats and a holey t-shirt.

“I don’t think so.” Dean grimaced. “I can sense it too and it is not very far from here.”

“Since when...” Sam blurted out, but stopped short at the pinched expression on his brother's face.

“Ok,” Sam conceded and scrubbed his face with both hands. “Let’s go.”

....

“I am standing right in front of you.”

Derek flinched for the voice was much nearer than before. In fact Stiles could touch him from this distance.

Derek let his hands fall by his sides loosely, extending his claws; only nothing happened. His hands remained stubbornly human.

The feeling of oppression was becoming more and more pronounced and suddenly it was getting difficult to breathe.

A hand pressed to his chest. 

Derek gasped and tried to jerk away, but it pinned him to the wall without seemingly exerting much force.

“You are not Stiles.”

“Oh shit. What gave me away.” The voice mocked in the perfect replica of the sarcastic cadence that typically belonged to Stiles. "Surely it is not my sparkling personality."

“Who are you?”

“You disappoint me...sourwolf.”

Derek stopped struggling against the hold in shock.

“Where is Stiles?” He snarled. “What have you done to him?”

“I just told you big guy.” The voice was downright amused now. “I am standing right in front of you.”

Derek lunged at the voice or more accurately tried to lunge, only to be held restrained by the invisible hand.

...

“Shit.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean muttered under the breath as he parked the Impala hastily in front of Derek’s apartment building where his newly-developed demon radar had led them to.  


“Are you sure this is the right place?” Sam asked.

“This is the place.” Castiel affirmed, getting down from the car already.

“Whoa, buddy, hold you horses.” Dean got down from the driver’s side and skirted round the car to stop in front of Castiel. “You are not going anywhere. We are going to take care of it.”

“Ok.”

“Just...ok?” Dean looked almost dazed by the easy acceptance.

“Would you prefer we stand here and argue all night?” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Good point,” Dean nodded. 

The lights inside the building went out suddenly.

“And we have got a drama queen on our hand!” Dean grabbed his weapon of choice and entered into the building.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean was stuck with an acute sense of déjà vu as he stumbled into the wolf’s bedroom with his Colt ready in his hands. They had already cleared the loft downstairs and there was nobody there.

Sam flashed his torchlight into the room and froze.

Derek was standing with his back towards them near the farthest corner of the room and he was absolutely still.

“Derek?” Sam called out.

Instead of answering Derek started whistling a very familiar tune.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden flood of memory. He swore he could smell vanilla beans and freshly baked pies. He could almost picture the willowy blond woman smiling down at him, smudging a dab of flour on the tip of his nose. He could picture her picking Sammy up from the crib and cradling him to her chest, humming under the breath...

“All through the night,  
I will be awake and and I’ll be with you,  
All through the night...”

Derek hummed.

“Stop it!” Dean gritted his teeth.

“This precious time when time is new,  
Oh all through the night today...”

Dean levelled his Colt at Derek’s back.

“I said STOP!”

“Dean!” Sam put a hand over the revolver.

“He is singing mother’s song. The one she used to sing to you. Can’t you remember?” Dean’s voice shook, but it was more in anger than in sorrow. 

“No.” Sam said after a pause. “I can’t remember.”

“What a monumental tragedy.” Derek had turned around and his face was...

Dean had learnt about Derek enough by now that he knew that the werewolf had a tendency to mask his emotion and that keeping his face blank was a second nature for him. 

This was not blank.

It was like Derek was hollowed out and it was only the empty shell of him standing upright.

“What the hell are you?” Dean blurted out, without lowering his weapon.

Derek grinned, all teeth, entirely human ones, but the gleam in his eyes were non-human.

“Are you really going to shoot him again?” He said and it was strange. The voice belonged to Derek, but the cadence and the tone did NOT belong to him. “All those troubles and it will be for nothing.”

“Lucifer?” Dean hazarded a guess. He could feel rather than see his brother stiffen up beside him before reaching surreptitiously into his pocket.

“Guess again.” Derek regarded them calmly and plucked the vial of holy water that Sam had thrown at him from air effortlessly.

“Boys,” he sounded profoundly disappointed though his face remained as expressionless as before. “You should not play around with this stuff.”

He opened the vial and raised it to the eye level.

“This,” he poured it over his head, “is too dangerous.”

Dean stopped breathing for a couple of seconds.

Nothing happened. If Dean didn’t know better he would have thought it was plain water in the glass vial. Derek threw away the empty bottle and cocked his head. While in real Derek the gesture looked almost normal, this Derek made it look like a corpse shaking off rigor mortis.

“Like I said.” He continued in the same un-Derek-like conversational tone. “It is scary stuff.”

“So, you are not a demon.” Dean scowled at him.

“Or a really powerful one.” Supplied Sam.

Derek tsked.

“Demons. Demons. Demons.” He said in an eerily sing-song voice, taking a leisurely step towards them. “You humans never learnt to think anything outside angels and demons.”

“Stay right where you are.” Dean raised his Colt again.

“Oh, and then there is God, I almost forgot.” 

Derek took another step.

“It is hard to remember things when you have lived so long that you forget your own age.”

“Stop!” Dean yelled.

Derek was halfway across the room.

“NOW...Dean!” 

Dean whisked out the salt pot from his jacket pocket and sprayed it at Derek.

It was as effective as the holy water.

“I am so sorry.” Derek smirked at them again. “I am a great inconvenience. I empathise with you. I mean really, look around you. Who would want to be the self-appointed guardian of a species that is clearly dying!"

"Is he really giving us the evil-dude-monologue?" Dean looked at Sam incredulously who just shrugged in answer.

Derek went on like Dean hadn't interrupted him at all. 

"You know that you are dying, right? There is way too much greed and way too much corruption. If you haven’t been able to figure out what does it mean to be civilised in six thousand years, I highly doubt you can do so within the next couple of centuries.”

“He is giving us the damn monologue.” Sam confirmed.

“What do you want?” Dean asked at the same time.

Derek stopped at his track and stared at him for a few moments before answering.

“Why ask such an inane question?” He quirked an eyebrow. It was such a Derek thing to do that Dean wanted to scream.

“When you deal with the eternity the ‘why’ becomes irrelevant. I do things because I feel like it. Not unlike humans who barely think of the consequences. Still you make me the villain of the story.”

“If you are not the villain then who are you?” Sam asked. Demons are inherently over-confident and conceited as hell. He was counting on this fact to make this demon reveal his origin. Right now, without knowing what kind of demon it is, no attempt at exorcism was possible.

“I will give you a hint.” Derek advanced on them again. “I was there before it all.” 

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than Sam’s flashlight died and the room plunged into darkness again. Sam thumped it against his palm, but it wouldn’t turn on. 

“I was there when it was dark and I was there to feed on the chaos that was the universe.”

Derek’s voice came to them in darkness, closer than he had been standing before.

“I am older than your God or your Lucifer and humans insult me again and again by associating my name to that of the cry-baby with daddy-issues.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice choked over his name and he couldn’t see a thing.

“Sammy....Sam...” Dean cried out.

The sound of the loud crash reverberated throughout the room along with a painful grunt.

“I was there before it all and I was the king of it all...before he came and ruined it for me.” 

Suddenly Derek’s cold breath ghosted over Dean’s lips as he whispered in an intimate voice.

“I want it back.”

Dean took out his First Blade.

...

Everything was suddenly visible, but things were somewhat blurry around the edges and tinged with red. Sam was a still heap by the wall with an overturned reading table by his side and its content spilled on the floor. 

That...should have dredged up some feelings. Dean frowned. It felt like he had been forgetting something. 

Shouldn’t he feel more concerned for Sam? Shouldn’t he rush to him and check his pulse? 

Did it really worth the time? If he was dead, he was dead!

And there was a demon to annihilate and then there might be more to kill. Dean licked his lips. He was so damn thirsty. He gripped his blade tightly and smiled. It felt good, invincible, when he had the blade in his hand. It was a heady feeling and of late he had been so tired all the time, for he couldn’t sleep. The one time in the last few months he had slept without nightmares waking him up was yesterday when he fell asleep on Derek’s leather sofa. It was strange to be able to fall asleep in a werewolf’s den. He was primarily a hunter. What the hell was he thinking? But then surely Derek wouldn’t have hurt him. 

Would he?

Well it sure looked like Derek now, claws slowly extending, grinning at him with pointy fangs, as he stood impossibly closer, with less than an inch between their bodies. 

Kill.

That was the way to survive.

Kill.

Or be killed.

Kill.

Dean’s eyes dropped to his lips, the demon standing in front of him, and they looked so soft and luscious. Dean closed the distance without thinking and the fangs grazed his lips in turn as the demon returned his kiss, cupping the back of his head with two large cold hands, tips of the claws digging painfully into his skull.

Goddamn it....it hurt so good!

The demon broke the kiss and lapped at his bruised lips. Then he started kissing again, without fangs this time and Dean could taste his own blood on the demon’s tongue as it swirled over his own. The demon's mouth was rough and possessive and Dean gave an involuntary shudder.

Kill.

But it felt good...so damn good.

The demon was now nipping at his mouth with little kisses, tightening his hold on him. Dean hissed when the demon was chest to chest with him for he was so cold, like a statue sculpted of ice. But they fit together, perfectly, like two broken pieces...

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Dean raised his hand that held the knife behind the demon’s back and aimed right where his heart was.

Kill.

“Dean.” Sam's voice was low and breathless. “Dean...no!”

Dean’s eyebrows knitted together again. 

He was a born killer and he was raised to be one. Why should he stop now? In killing there was the ultimate glory and he would never go thirsty anymore. He would begin with this demon and would move onto the others polluting this sleepy town. Werewolves, witches, banshees, druids...all fucking abominations on God’s green earth; he would rid the world of them. He could try his hands with a few humans too. That would be fun for they are easy to spook...

Dean almost lost the thread of his thought for the way the demon's mouth was working on him. It was like there was magic on every inch of that fucking tongue, like it was sin itself. Dean didn't want to open his eyes ever, but just be lost in this pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Derek Hale.” Sam’s voice came clearer and stronger as he had stood up, bracing himself against the wall. “You are the middle child of Talia Hale, the protector of Beacon Hills, the teacher, friend and guide to the True Alpha...you are not...this.”

Derek faltered.

“Derek.” Sam was pleading now. “Derek, I don’t want to kill you.”

Derek’s lips stilled at Dean's jawline and his entire body froze.

No, no, no...the demon wouldn’t get away. It was his job to punish it! His brother was all talk and no action. Dean knew he didn’t have it in him to kill the demon. It was HIS job.

“Dean Winchester.” It was another voice, still familiar. Dean looked over Derek’s shoulder to where Castiel has tele-ported himself. Where did he come from and how did he manage to do it when he was losing his grace with every passing day? “You snap out of it this instant. You are stronger than this. You are the Righteous Man. You can beat your darkness. This.is.not.you.” He almost yelled the last four words.

Winchester...the name sounded vaguely familiar!

Dean felt wind in his air and an easy laughter and a whispered promise...vaguely....vaguely...in a farway land...he had someone else coming with him, something else to hold onto...vaguely, through the fog and the darkness...there was this sunshine on an upturned face that looked at him with such trust and love...a bond...he remembered a bond...something...to hold onto...

“Dean, please..."

For less than a second Dean’s red-tinged vision dimmed and it was human again.

“RUN.” He whispered and he didn’t know whom he was addressing. Probably the warning was for Derek or for Sam or for both.

Derek was a cold and still statue and his even breathing was the only sign that he was alive.

Then the vision came back again and the demon’s eyes widened impossibly like he was getting up from a sleep. He started to straighten, but it was Dean’s turn now to latch onto him. Then he reversed their positions in a blindingly fast move as he slammed the demon on the wall with his hand wrapped around his throat. Good thing the Mark made his so strong. The demon struggled to get free, but Dean held onto him, easily. So much power; he laughed softly under the breath as he raised his blade again.

“DEAN!”

The demon had stopped struggling when he finally had realised it was a futile effort. Instead he was regarding Dean with an expression that was almost serene. He was...not scared and that frustrated the hunter a bit. He should have been scared. 

“I forgive you.” The demon suddenly said and his voice was soft and his eyes were opened wide and Dean could only stare at him in bewilderment. 

He expected the demon to fight back or even begging and pleading, but not this!

And this was...not quite...

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, there was a shadow on the wall behind Derek and it couldn’t have belonged to him for it was much larger.

It had horns.

Dean used his hold on Derek’s throat to jerk him away from the wall and threw him towards the direction where Castiel was standing.

“Come on.” He taunted the shadow which was still there on the wall, and it looked like it was getting even bigger.

“Come on. Don’t hide into mortal bodies. Show us your pretty face, demon.” Dean paused dramatically. “Or should I call you...Belial?”

The room was suddenly bright with a blinding white light. Dean looked back surprised and was greeted with a sight that he had seen only once in his life. 

Castiel had unfurled his wings and they were glowing, filling up the room with a preternaturally bright light.

Dean remembered father’s lesson: light was the very opposite of darkness, of everything that Belial stood for.

An unholy screech made his attention snap back to the wall. The horned shadow was moving against the wall now and a figure was forming, giant and gnawed. A gnarled hand came out of the wall with long talons and pressed its palm on the ground. Next came half the torso and the head. The eyes of the demon shone orange, like balls of fire and his horns were curled backward.

Before Dean could react, there was a huge black wolf that shot past him and pounced on it. The demon backhanded the animal easily, but the wolf just shook itself and came bounding again and latched onto the arm of the creature . He bit it just beyond the wrist, biting through the radial artery, if the creature had one. 

Dean lunged, aiming his blade at its open throat as it snarled at the wolf.

He plunged the knife up to the hilt.

The thing gurgled, vomiting a green viscous liquid. Then it tried to retreat into the wall again. The wolf was still holding on and wouldn’t let go. Dean twisted the knife and its orange eyes started dimming over.

Suddenly it tipped its head towards the ceiling and there was a thick, dark column of smoke coming out of its mouth. When it was over, there were only ashes left. Literally.  


The ashes scattered on the ground soundlessly and the power was back on almost immediately after. Dean threw his blade as far away from him as possible and regarded the wolf who was staring at the ashes looking angry and bewildered. When he felt Dean’s curious gaze he turned his head towards the hunter and he looked up at Dean with impossibly intelligent, bright blue eyes.

Dean could only stare at the magnificent creature, utterly awed.

“What are you?” Dean tried tentatively. He still had some vestiges of the threads of the violent thoughts that possessed him a few minutes back, but he was mostly himself again.

Sam chose the moment to come up from behind and drape a bed-sheet over the wolf, ruffling his fur gently with both hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “This is not Colonel. This is a goddamn WOLF!”

The wolf and Sam both stared at him with equally unimpressed faces.

“Derek?” Dean screeched and the wolf actually rolled his eyes. Dean was impressed.

The wolf Derek shook off Sam’s hands gently but firmly and started towards the door.

“Derek, wait!” Dean started. He had to know what he meant. He had to know why.

Castiel shook his head at Dean who glowered at the angel.

“But he cannot just leave. Not after what happened here.” He whined.

“He needs to leave, precisely for what happened here.” Castiel was calm as ever. 

The wolf didn’t look back when he shot out of the room and from the sound of it, the loft itself and disappeared into the night that was as dark as its silky coat.

“Ok, if all of us are standing awkwardly staring into each other’s eyes and since Castiel seemed to have found his mojo, you can as well explain what just happened?” Dean declared.

"I haven't found my...mojo, not sure what that means, but I assume you are talking about my grace."

"No, I was talking about your non-existent fashion sense." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I happen to try to -"

"Cas," Sam hastily interrupted, throwing a withering glare at Dean's direction, "Dean is being sarcastic again. Take no notice of him. Just tell me how could you teleport when you can hardly stand on your own feet."

"I borrowed it from somebody temporarily, somebody we thought was dead." Castiel paused.

"And now he chooses to be dramatic." Dean huffed. "Who was it? Who rose from the dead this time and how do we kill him again."

"Why would you kill Ezekiel?" Castiel asked, clearly puzzled.

"Ezekiel is alive?" Dean spluttered. Then he hastily added, "well, beside the point. So he is not dead and he lent you some grace. Now who the hell was the head honcho here? Was it really Belial?"

“It was Belial.” Castiel replied evenly. “As you have rightly guessed. It had somehow lodged itself in Derek.”

“It was pretty powerful. It is not easy to backhand Sam that much effortlessly.”

“He is far older than Lucifer and some say more powerful than him.” Sam intervened. “What else do you expect?”

“But how did Derek manage to cast it out?”

Sam looked at Castiel for he was equally at a loss. He had just remembered an ancient belief that a name held sacred power and that the sense of self might return to a person if he was reminded of his full name.

“You said almost the exact same thing Chris had said to him when he got possessed by a demon not even a year ago.”

With that Dean remembered, the almost-haunting quality of Derek’s voice and the way it shook slightly as he had recalled the incident in this very loft only yesterday. 

‘I almost set Chris on fire.’ He had whispered. Dean recognised the acute self-loathing instantly. It was an old friend after all.

“And the thing that was coming out of the wall? It was just a vessel as well, wasn’t it?” Dean toed the grey ashes gingerly trying hard not to acknowledge the painful twist in his guts for the still-hurting wolf. 

“It is not very easy to kill a demon of the highest stature.” Castiel shook his head. “We are lucky we have been able to exorcise him both from Derek and from you.”

“From me?” Dean’s eyes widened.

Sam looked at Dean worriedly. 

“Dean, what do you remember?”

“I was...Derek was attacking me and I fended him off, almost stabbing him with the blade and he said something that made me snap out of it.” Dean replied, clearly puzzled with the question.

“Did Derek really attack you?” Sam frowned.

“He...he...it was so blurry.” Dean raked his hand through his hair, thoroughly frustrated. “I think he attacked me. Why else would I want to kill him so badly. The only thing I could remember was the thought that was going through my mind that he was a demon and we save people from demons.”

“Derek is not a demon.” Castiel said softly. “He got possessed by one. Someone so powerful that can possess two people at the same time.”

“I...no...it is not possible!”

“Dean your skin turned black.” Sam blurted out. "Your entire skin. Turned. Black."

“What?” Dean almost did a double take.

“When Derek kissed you, your skin –”

“Wait, pause and rewind.” Dean held up a finger. “Derek kissed me?”

“You don’t remember him kissing you?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“Derek kissed me?”

“It wasn’t Derek per se. It was Belial controlling Derek’s body.” Sam hastily corrected himself. "And I think he did something to you, almost took over you, through the kiss."

“No you don't understand." Dean turned upon Sam heatedly. "Derek KISSED me?” 

"Y-yes?" Sam squeaked, exchanging a worried look with Castiel. Even the naturally stoic angel was looking vaguely disturbed by Dean's reaction.

"Derek kissed me." Dean repeated, staring vacantly ahead.

Sam waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Dean?”

“Derek –”

“Kissed you, yes.” Sam and Dean jumped as Lydia walked into the room with Scott and Kira in tow. “We all know it by now. If you continue in this vein, I am sure it will be the page three news at Beacon Hills Daily by tomorrow.”

“Lydia,” Sam greeted cautiously and Dean looked like he had bitten off a piece of lemon by accident. He was still wary of the red-head, though Sam begged to differ and would argue that Dean was actually terrified of her. Dean scoffed at the very idea of being terrified of a five foot three inch tall high schooler.

“How did you guys –”

“I sensed Derek was in trouble.” Scott replied before the question was out of Sam’s mouth.

“But he is not a par–”

“I don’t know.” Scott shook his head. "And he feels pack." He added more quietly.

It was a bit eerie how Scott answered Sam’s question before he had even had the chance to finish them off. How did they reach this level of understanding with a bunch of supernatural teenagers, Dean wondered.

“Where has he gone?” He asked Scott. “Can you sense him?”

Scott rolled his eyes and Dean was sure he had picked it up from Derek. Some nice role-model he must have made for the kid, he thought wryly.

“We are not in Twilight. We don’t tele-communicate. But we –”

“Still, you can send out an SOS. So it is only fair to assume...” Dean trailed off at the expression on Sam’s face, the profoundly disappointed one. “What? Only HE can interrupt us in the middle of a sentence?”

Everybody in the room (including Castiel) rolled their eyes at him and Kira, the sweet-looking girl (who they had learnt to be a kitsune, a rare and very special type of supernatural creature) looked like she would have rolled her eyes only if she knew how to.

All speculations soon ended at the tell-tale sound of the loft door opening and closing, like somebody was being deliberately loud.

“He is here.” The relief on Scott’s face was palpable. “Let us go downstairs.”

Nobody protested and with a last disgusted look at the remaining of the unnamed demon that had been the vessel of Belial, Dean left the wolf’s bedroom to confront the wolf himself.

Derek kissed him!

He shook his head. That was not the part he should concentrate on at this moment.

But still...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to my readers for the delay. Trust me it is completely unintentional. I am busy finishing up with the original three-book fantasy series I have written. After facing rejection from about the thirtieth publishing houses who returned my manuscript I am finally going to publish it electronically through Amazon KDP.
> 
> Happy and incredibly terrified at the same time. 
> 
> I will get back to the fanfic soon; please please please don't write me off... :(

“We need to break up.” Derek muttered tensely.

“Um...that will be a no.” Scott frowned. “We know next to nothing about this terrain.”

“Scott we need to break up and explore around. It will be faster.” Derek argued.

“Actually he is right.” Chris said peering down the stone road that had branched into three different directions in front of them. It was difficult to see anything for everything was wrapped up in the fog-like smoke. It was only illuminated with the eerie yellow glow, from the fire that raged underneath at the pit of hell, that was bursting through the ground a few meters apart. Sam had told them about the road and the fire and had warned them never to step off the road, no matter what.

Limbo.

The land of eternal wait.

All they needed was a little cut in the middle of the chest with the Demon Blade and while their bodies went limp. Deaton carefully eased them on the floor of Derek’s loft with Jordan’s help while their souls were freely flying to a faraway land. Sam had kept a firm hold on Dean’s shoulder and Castiel on the other, grounding an anchoring him the whole time he had the blade in his hand so that he didn’t lose control.

It was so close...so close!

All six of them had sighed in relief when they arrived there in one piece, the exact place that Dean had sent Stiles to. Their mission was simple: find Stiles and bring him home.

What could go wrong?

Apparently everything because first, there was no Stiles in their immediate vicinity. More bad news waited them as Scott suddenly discovered he had lost the ability to use his werewolf senses. Before Scott could even adjust to the new situation, Kira’s fox spirit had come to the fore and she had attacked him first thing for the fox didn’t distinguish; it just felt threatened by an alpha werewolf in such a close proximity.

If Chris hadn’t stepped up quickly, it could have gone either way. Then Derek had taken over, pinning her down by her wrists as she snarled at him and had chanted to her how she needed to get back, that she didn’t want to hurt them for she was so concerned when Stiles got lost last time and how guilty she felt, that she had gone off with Derek, then a complete stranger, in the sole hope of finding a clue...

“The bat Kira!” Derek had yelled into her ears. “You remember Stiles’ bat. You remember that you couldn’t hold back your tears at that? You remember you said you would do anything to help finding him?”

The fight had gone from Kira as she looked up at Derek with bewildered eyes.

“He has gone missing again. We need you back. You can control it. Think of Stiles, of Scott, of your friends. Let your love for them anchor you. Feel it in your bones.”

Kira had squeezed her eyes shut and when she had opened them there was this utterly devastated look in her eyes. Derek had let her sit up while Scott enveloped her into a hug, shushing her muttered apologies.

And finally they had reached this impasse. Dean didn’t like the idea of splitting up any more than Scott, but he had to agree with Derek. 

“Ok, if we must,” Scott huffed. “Kira and I will take the middle one. Malia you take the left one with Chris. Derek you can pair up with Dean.”

“I will be fine on my own.” Derek said.

“Derek –”

“I don’t need a hunter with me. Especially this one.” Derek scowled. “Besides you just saw Kira has the barest control over her fox spirit. You are already one step behind because you cannot use any of your senses. The hunter is going with you and NO argument.”

“But -”

Derek had already started walking down the road briskly, leaving no room for argument. After a few minutes he couldn’t see or hear anybody and just assumed the others were also on their way.

Suddenly Derek heard footsteps behind him and instantly dropped into a crouch. He swung his body and slammed shoulder-first into the legs that had trotted up to him. The man fell backwards with a loud thud and in an instant Derek was on top of him snarling.

“Man if I knew you would be so happy to jump me minutes after separating...I would have brought flowers.” Dean drawled from beneath him, his knife poised at Derek’s throat.

Derek rose fluidly leaving the hunter on the ground. He didn’t even offer him a hand. Which, rude!

Dean muttered about assholes and werewolves under his breath and pushed himself to his feet and jogged to catch up with the werewolf.

“Why are you following me?” Derek threw over the shoulder.

“None of us should be alone in this place.” Dean said simply as he fell into pace beside Derek. “I like it even less than the underworld and THAT is saying something.”

“Yet you are the reason we have to come here in the first place.”

“Will you stop with that?” Dean pretty much exploded. “I said sorry for about a thousand times already.”

Derek was about to open his mouth to retort when he suddenly looked over at Dean and clamped down with a visible effort. Dean didn’t know if it was because he stank of guilt and self-loathing already, so much so that he could pretty much drown in it.

“You should have gone with Scott. That idiot always tries to play the hero.” Derek grumbled.

“Careful there,” Dean smirked. “It almost sounded like you care.”

“I don’t care.” Derek said automatically.

“Is that why you came to the den of two hunters to threaten us so that we don’t attack your precious pack?” Dean retorted. “Because you don’t care?”

Derek kept mum and Dean smiled triumphantly.

“So,” he drew out the vowel. “You are just risking your life to save the member of a pack which you don’t belong to by the way, thank you very much. Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Derek said harshly. 

“Might as well tell me for this may be the last human interaction you have before we die a horrible death or are captured by the demons or are tortured for all eternity.” Dean said cheerfully. 

When Derek didn’t reply Dean prodded further. “You know the first thing they will do is to pull out our tongues. That is a kink practised in hell. By the way, speaking of kinks...”

“Don’t.”

“Oh but I was only talking about pies.”

“Pies?” Derek asked dumbly.

“Don't you know there is a direct co-relation between consumption of a good hand-made pie and happiness?” Dean rolled his eyes at Derek like what he was saying made perfect sense and Derek was being particularly thick.

“Do you know you are insane or is it a news I should have broken to you much more gently?" Derek raised an eyebrow at him. "In that case my condolences." 

Dean snorted. “I never claimed to be sane. I might be sane-ish.”

Derek looked skyward. “It is officially true. We have got ourselves a new Stiles.” He muttered. “As if one one not enough.” He added belatedly.

“Is that a complement for I have gathered you kinda like this guy...like a lot.” Dean said innocently.

“I don’t like Stiles.” Derek said tiredly, inwardly groaning why they had not found Stiles already or getting killed in the process or just got it over with one way or the other.

“Says the man who is willingly visiting the limbo to get him back.”

“He means a lot to Scott.”

“So it is only for Scott.”

“Jesus Christ!” Derek desperately wanted to find a wall or a rock to bang his head against, repeatedly.

“Admit it. You like these kids and you are sort of a guardian to them...all protective and shit.” 

“Do not.”

“Really mature.” Dean rolled his eyes. “So you wouldn’t mind if I put a silver bullet through Stiles if he turns out to be -”

Dean couldn’t even finish the sentence before Derek had turned round on him, bunching his jacket collar in his fist.

“Do that and I am going to fucking rip your heart out.”

Dean looked pointedly down where the tip of his blade was nudging against Derek’s side.

“Doesn’t matter. I will find a way to kill you.” Derek gave him one more jerk before turning round and stalking off.

"Fucking melodramatic werewolves." Dean huffed under the breath and straightened his jacket but he started walking briskly to catch up with the said wolf. 

“Hey...sweetie,” Derek froze. 

Nononononono...it was impossible. Derek looked around frantically. Kate was dead, shot through the head by the Araya Calavera and cut into two halves for good measure while he himself had taken out her berserkers at La Iglesia almost a year back. By all means she should be rotting in hell. She couldn't be here.

But she was and the path seemed to have ended and there was nowhere to go unless they stepped on the treacherous ground.

“Derek?” Dean asked in a wary tone. “Why is the lady smiling at you, slightly maniacally, if I may add.”

Derek reached out blindly, wordlessly and grabbed Dean by the wrist. Somehow that small, vulnerable gesture made his breath catch in his throat. Derek was never the one to voluntarily touch anybody. Something was very wrong here.

Dean looked her over. She was no doubt gorgeous and dressed in leather jacket, vest and knee-length boots, she had a definite biker-girl aura around her. Somehow Dean just KNEW she was a hunter. She was playing with a small object in her hand. Dean couldn’t help but notice how her eyes were raking all over Derek, not in a normal checking-out-a-hot-dude kind of way. There was a hunger, cold as ice, which seemed to have seeped into the marrow and took up residence there. Something in Dean recognised this, tipped its head in acknowledgement.

She would never let him go if she got her hooks into him – the realisation crashed into Dean along with an unpleasant burn at the back of his throat. Derek’s hand clenched around Dean’s wrist, claws out and digging down into the latter’s skin painfully. Dean didn’t flinch, but he started to imperceptibly inch forward to block Derek physically from the woman who was now standing a few feet away and smiling creepily at Derek.

“I would say demonification becomes me.” The woman smirked. “What do you say Derek? Got a promotion too, so that I am immune from small inconveniences like claws or fangs.”

Sensing Dean’s movement Derek had immediately left his hold on Dean’s wrist and had grabbed the hunter by his arms to shove him roughly behind him.

“Wow Derek. Is that you new boy toy?” She smiled wider. “He is gorgeous. You haven’t even introduced me. How rude!”

“I think I will pass.” Dean muttered.

“No, I am afraid I must insist.” She said. “I am Kate Argent, the love of his life.” 

What???

Derek lunged at her, snarling. He clean went through her body like she was transparent.

Derek rose to his feet quickly only to see Kate flicker to life at a different place a couple of feet away. 

“You wound me Derek. I get it you are not happy about the lack of communication. It was totally my fault and now you are angry. That is understandable. But you haven’t even exchanged the stories of murderous exes yet?” She pouted.

“Murderous exes?”

“Oh he has a collection of them, but I was his first. Were I not Derek.” She laughed. “But obviously I was too hot for you baby and you got burnt.” 

Derek’s face turned ashen. Dean could finally make out the object in her hand. 

A fucking lighter!

His blood ran cold in his veins. 

“Is she the one?” Dean asked quietly from behind. “The hunter who burned down your family?”

Derek remained quiet never taking his eyes off Kate. For Dean that was enough confirmation. He took a step to his side, but Derek moved in tandem, again angling his body so that he was blocking Dean from Kate.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered and tried to shove Derek aside so that he could have a one-on-one with the crazy bitch, but Derek was impossible to move.

In the meanwhile Kate kept on taunting Derek.

“You were so pathetic, you know?” Kate was saying. “The middle child whom nobody took much notice of. Not when you had a brilliant older sister like Laura or a very vocal younger one like Cora. Nobody was really bothered about you.”

Kate tilted her head. “Such a pathetic sob story. Lonely little wolf gave his heart to the sexy huntress. How eager you were to please me. How proud you were to lose your virginity.”

Dean was getting increasingly disturbed with the story. Sam had told him Derek was only sixteen when the fire took place and Kate appeared to be closer to Dean’s age. Dean did the math quickly and gasped, but he was not even remotely prepared for the next words that came out of Derek’s mouth.

“I said ‘no’.” Derek said, in a hushed whisper. If he had not been standing immediately behind Derek, he wouldn’t even be able to hear it.

“What is that sweetie?” Kate arched an eyebrow.

“I told you ‘no,’” Derek said, a bit more firmly than before. “It is true that I fell in love with you.” Derek closed his eyes momentarily and Dean could feel the disgust pouring out of the wolf. “But I didn’t want to have sex with you. I wanted to wait. I kept on saying ‘no’ and you never listened.”

“But darling you had all the power in the world to stop me but you didn't. Instead how hard you became for me.” 

Derek simply stared at her, wide-eyed and utterly lost. Dean wanted to gut the woman where she stood.

“Now we are going to lock you up again like we did in your basement where we had so much fun.” Kate went on. “And you would become hard for me again.”

“No...” Derek flinched back. 

With that Dean was well and truly done!

“Yo bitch,” he yelled at Kate. “Have you looked into the mirror lately?”

Kate’s attention snapped to him. “Why?” She asked arching one perfect eyebrow.

“Just wondering you know.” Dean turned upon his charming smile number three. “I think you need some serious make up to cover that ugly thing.”

“What ugly thing?” Kate frowned at him.

Dean could only cross his fingers and fly into action, giving the barest warning to Derek. He would still have liked to think someone up there had been watching over. Otherwise, Derek who was hell bent on opposing Dean at every turn shouldn’t just crouch down immediately at the barest pressure of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, telling him wordlessly to get down. Dean climbed directly on Derek’s back and leapt towards Kate, his blade ready in hand.

“This one.” He said as his blade connected satisfactorily and cut across Kate’s face viciously. She had immediately turned into a monstrous thing with dark blue skin and she snarled, clawing at thin air in pain and rage.

Dean’s left ankle twisted painfully as soon as it came into contact with the ground at an awkward angle and he would have fallen right into her claws if Derek had not snatched him back, holding him by the scruff of his neck. Kate’s claw only tore through his jacket collar, going clear through the thick denim material like knife through butter. 

Derek was already hauling him closer and breaking into a run into the direction they had come from.

Dean was one hundred percent on board with the idea for he didn’t need werewolf ears to hear the terrifying roar behind him.

It was certainly not Kate and it was giving them a chase.

“Derek...” Dean was tripping over his feet and he couldn’t keep up. “Let go. I am slowing you down.” He pawed at Derek’s hand ineffectually.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Derek snapped back at the same time Dean finally stumbled and spread-eagled on the ground, almost taking Derek down in the process.

“You need to find Stiles.” Dean hobbled to his feet and pushed Derek forward. “Just go. Save him. I am right behind you.”

Derek regarded him for a heartbeat or two, lips thinned into a grim line.

“Like hell you are.” Derek grabbed his arm and hauled him over his shoulder, taking half of his body weight in the process.

The ground started to shake slightly.

“Is that...?”

“Go...just go!” Dean yelled.

But Derek had suddenly ground to a halt, making Dean jerk forward. He would have face-planted again if Derek didn’t have an iron grip on him.

The first thing he heard was the flap of the giant wings, dredging up memories from the underworld, something he did not want to remember, at all. Then there it was, his nightmare personified, alighting on clawed feet immediately before them, effectively blocking their way.

The demon easily dwarfed them, looming like a small mountain over them. There were those eyes, burning like coal against the surrounding gloom and the huge hands holding a monstrous scythe.

“Abezethibod.” Dean staggered back. “B-but it is impossible!” He stammered.

The demon simply pointed at Dean and crooked his finger, beckoning him. 

To Derek's utter horror, Dean obeyed wordlessly.

...

“Look what you have done now.” Shrieked the woman, pointing at the golden-haired child lying dead at her feet.

“No....no...” Scott was shaking his head violently. “I didn’t...” But his eyes were fixed on the three horizontal gashes across his small torso from where blood was oozing out lazily.

Scott could see entrails torn asunder through the gashes. He doubled over and retched.

“Scott.” Kira held her firmly by the shoulders. “It is a demon. They are both demons. They are the same ones that attacked us.”

“Why are you lying to him?” The woman screeched at them, blinding tears running down her cheeks. “He is a monster. You all are monsters. You killed my child.”

“No, please...no...” Scott scooted away from Kira and wrapped his arms around his knees. 

“Look at his face.” The woman grabbed the child’s face and turned towards them. He looked cherubic even in death, utterly peaceful and still. “Look at him and tell me he is a monster.”

“Scott, she is lying.” Kira approached Scott again, cautiously. “You can hear their heartbeats. You can smell the sulfur...”

Scott was not listening anymore. He had buried his head between his knees and was whimpering.

“You cannot hide yourself from what you did.” The woman was still yelling at him. “You are a killer. There is blood on your hand.”

“Stop it!” With one flick of her wrist the katana was open and gleaming in her hand. She advanced on the woman. 

She cowered from her. “Yeah, kill me. That is the only thing you can do. You are all killers. Monsters.” Her voice shook in genuine fear though Kira could hear the blatant lie underneath.

“No...Kira.” Scott’s head snapped up. “Don’t!”

“Scott she is lying.”

“What if she isn’t?”

It finally clicked. She turned to the woman with narrowed eyes. Then she softened her face.

“I am so sorry.” She dropped her katana to the ground. “I didn’t...we didn’t mean to harm you. We are so very sorry.” And she turned to kitten from a fox within seconds.

The woman blinked at her through tears.

“Let me help you.” Kira went on in the same soothing voice. “I can heal your child. Please let me.” She took a couple of tentative steps.

“Don’t touch my child.”

“But I am unarmed. See?” Kira raised both hands. “I swear I would not hurt him. Or you. I just want to help.” She concentrated on her heartbeat and made herself mean it. Demons could also detect lies by heartbeats after all.

The woman looked on warily as Kira inched forward.

“Kira,” Scott called out.

“It is alright.” Kira knelt down in front of the child. “I am going to help. I said I will.”

With impossible speed she threw the Holy Water at the two demons. It rained on them and their combined shrieks almost burst Kira’s eardrums. Yellow smoke rose from their skin and before her eyes, their forms began to change. 

Scott woke up from his stupor and dragged Kira back from the two screeching demons.

They rose to their feet and started running without bothering to look back.


	21. Chapter 21

It came in bits and pieces. Dreams, memories…Stiles was not really sure, but he was in the locker room of BHH again with a pissed off werewolf hot in his trail. He was frantically looking for something. His mind vaguely registered the sound of benches ripped from the floor in uncontrolled rage, but he was busy looking for that thing that was supposed to be there.

Well, the fire extinguisher was not in its usual place and Stiles was going to die…

Stiles slumped against the wall, breathing heavily because there was no way he could live through the next couple of minutes.

It would kill his dad!

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to think of something good, to hold onto it. It might lessen the pain somewhat when the werewolf would tear him apart. However his mind drew a complete blank. There was darkness beyond his closed eyelids and nothing else; no hope, no joy, no happy memories, only the painful reminder how it was all his fault.

If only he had been a little bit less nosy and had not dragged Scott into the Preserve in the middle of the night in search of a dead body. Whoever did that? Surely not any sane person! Now he would pay the price of his burning curiosity and he would drag the two people he cared for the most down with him – Scott and his dad.

Stiles thumped his head against the wall. Self-loathing was not a good feeling. God only knew how Derek navigated through the myriad shades of it and still kept relatively sane.

Speaking of Derek, maybe if he had listened to the man who had warned him about Scott even when he was under arrest because of Stiles, instead of drawing hasty conclusions about him, he would have been more cautious. In Stiles’ defense Derek didn’t quite come across as somebody trying to give away well-meaning advice free of cost while trying to save the lives of dumb kids he barely knew.

How little they knew of Derek Hale!

The commotion in the locker room had reached the door and Stiles’ breathing was coming in short gasps. There was simply not enough oxygen in his lungs. He would probably die even before the werewolf had the chance to rip out his throat.

The darkness is deepening all around him and Stiles felt himself flailing about. He would do anything for a lungful of air. Stiles clawed around, feeling the air thickening around him and the werewolf just beyond the door, which opened with a dull thud.

The panic was simply overwhelming and Stiles opened his eyes to look at his death in the face. He couldn’t not!

But the werewolf was not emerging out of the door. There was no door at all. The angry snarl came from right by his side where he was holding up the 200-pound mass of perfect muscles and blazing rage whose eyes glowed bright blue in the evening gloom. Stiles left his hold with a gasp only to remember how Derek was paralised neck down and now he was drowning, his limp body hitting the tiled floor at the bottom of the swimming pool. Derek’s eyes were closed, like the fight had gone from his body as well as his spirit. Stiles looked on horrified as Derek’s colour was changing to a horrible white from his usual healthy tan and how bubbles broke through his slightly parted lips, the last bit of air that had kept his lungs pumping, heart beating, blood flowing.

Suddenly Stiles realized Derek hadn’t been yelling at him to be an asshole. He was freaking terrified. He was scared shitless that Stiles would release his hold and let him drown, precisely what he had done.

Stiles looked on with horror until no more bubbles were coming out of Derek’s mouth, which had gone slack, like his entire body.

Fuck.

Stiles dove in and grabbed Derek by the collar, water buoying up the incredible hulk of his body, and Stiles’ hands went around his surprisingly slim waist, clutching the ice-cold werewolf to his chest like he was a precious treasure he had grabbed from the bottom of the ocean.

They broke the surface, but Derek was still cold, and deathly pale. His lips were turning a sick shade of blue; incredibly long eyelashes fanned over white cheeks.

And he was not breathing. At all.

“Derek?” Stiles yelled, trying to balance the heavy man in his arms while at the same time keeping afloat.

“Derek, wake up.” Panic shot through Stiles like livewire.

The ugly son of a bitch circling the swimming pool, hissing occasionally didn’t matter, Lydia crying her pretty eyes out in her car because of a broken heart didn’t matter, Scott forsaking him for Allison didn’t matter, Harris giving him detention again didn’t matter, all the petty details seemed to matter little in the face of the stark truth staring him in his eyes, or rather hanging limply from his arms.

Derek was dead and he had let him drown.

The man who stood between him and Peter without a second’s hesitation, the man who literally crawled over broken glasses to lead the murdering psychopath of an uncle away from Stiles, was dead.

“Derek.” Stiles pushed his face into the white column of his neck at the base of which the pulse didn’t beat anymore.

He let himself drown, still holding Derek close.

Down into the darkness.

Only there was a bright light right ahead of him. Scott was standing with a burning flare in his hand, gasoline pooling at his feet, like a slick, coiled body of a cobra about to strike.

“Whoa, Scotty!”

“I am sorry Stiles.” Scott was weeping, red fire reflecting off the tear-trails on his sad face. “Tell my mom I love her.”

Then he dropped the torch right into the gasoline.

Stiles woke up with a gasp on his bed. He looked at his hands and screamed for he didn’t need to switch on the light to know his hands were slick with blood.

It belonged to Allison.

And it went on in endless loops. Nightmare after nightmare, impossibly vivid and real. Stiles kicked and screamed and fought his hardest, but he couldn’t change the outcomes, him ending up dead, or worse still his friends dying around him. It was beyond hopeless. Stiles felt it was Nogitsune trying to possess him once again. At least when it had happened there had been periods of lucidity, or respites however brief at first, there was the knowledge his friends would come for him, but here, wherever he was trapped, there seemed to be absolutely no possibility of his getting away. The last thing he ever remembered was the unbearable agony of being cut open by multiple blades while hanging upside down from what looked like a tree-branch.

Or…wait, it was not the last thing he remembered. His last memory was of Dean Winchester lunging at him with his wicked-looking blade ready in hand. But he didn’t plunge it in his chest like he had anticipated. Instead he had made a small cut on his chest with the tip of the blade. And now Stiles was imprisoned in his mind which dredged up all the nightmares he had lived through and twisted them in order to torture him endlessly.

Stiles stopped screaming. It was time to think. If it was his mind creating the illusions, then the fully wolfed out Isaac charging at him with no sign of Derek to go alpha on him was but a figment of his imagination. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and plastered his back against the wall. Isaac was on him within a fraction of a second and let out a roar mere inches away from his face.

“You are not real.” Stiles chanted, but his voice shook because the heat from Isaac’s body, the sound of his roar ringing in his ear everything was so very real.

“Go away.” Stiles said, eyes still closed. “You cannot hurt me.”

“Are you sure Stiles?” Isaac laughed around the fangs. It sounded high-pitched and unnatural. The real Isaac, even in his most murderous phase never sounded like this. Stiles wondered if it was really his imagination or if it was somebody else wearing Isaac’s mask.

“You can’t.” Stiles held his ground even though he was losing his mind in sheer terror. “If you could, you would have killed me ages ago.”

“Maybe I like playing with my food.”

Stiles forcibly suppressed the urge to open his eyes and take a peek because he didn’t know whom or what he would see. Most definitely not Isaac, he was sure.

“Do your worst.” Stiles spat defiantly. It was probably a bad idea, but when he was at the mercy of some unknown evil at God only knew where and was probably going down forever, there was no reason to be cowering and begging, since it would not save him anyway.

“Oh I intend to.” Isaac or the thing wearing Isaac’s face chuckled and Stiles suddenly felt the ground beneath his feet shift. There was an icy wind around him, making his skin break into goosebumps. Suddenly it smelt like a place achingly familiar. There were voices around him. He couldn’t sense the direction, but he was tempted again to open his eyes for this felt even more real than the dreamworld he had been floating around. Probably because of the smell. Woodsy and cold, but something pretty akin to home and safety. Something that screamed pack.

“Stiles, please tell me where you are. I will find you, I promise.” Stiles’ eyes flew open and he was standing into Derek’s loft. It was pitch dark but he had no problem seeing.

Holy shit!

“Derek.” Stiles yelled desperately, advancing on him. “Derek, I am right here.”

“Stiles?” Derek sounded cautious and somewhat afraid! That was crazy. Derek didn’t do afraid. Stiles’ terror increased tenfold at the lost look on Derek’s face.

“Derek, please man.” Stiles felt like crying. It was no use for Derek didn’t seem to see or hear him at all. He was looking at a point beyond Stiles. He was not sure what Derek was looking at.

Suddenly, Stiles was pulled back by some invisible force. He was sort of hovering from the ceiling of Derek’s bedroom. But it was not right because he could see himself advancing on Derek. Was he dreaming again? Having some strange out of the body experience? Stiles fought against the invisible hold as his doppelganger talked to Derek with Stiles’ voice. A heavy sense of foreboding pervaded his senses.

“Derek get away.” Stiles screamed. “Get away from him.”

Stiles’ doppelganger smiled eerily at Derek, pinning him against the wall quite easily.

“Who are you?” Derek was snarling.

“Derek just rip out his throat already!”

But Derek was not listening to him. He seemed completely hypnotized at whatever lies his doppelganger was feeding him, staring at him wide-eyed.

“No.” Stiles was going crazy against the invisible force. Something was happening to Derek. The thing that looked like Stiles stepped towards Derek, standing toe to toe and Derek seemed quite unable to move and then he just stepped into Derek, like he was made of smoke, blending into his skin and then it was only Derek standing into the cold loft, swaying on his feet with eyes closed.

When he opened them, they were completely vacant.

Stiles felt himself pulled backward like he was attached to a elastic band which was now contracting. Before he knew it, he was in his own bedroom again. Stiles jumped down from the bed. Dream or no dream, he would not be stuck in here another minute. His pack was in danger. Derek was in danger and it had started to piss him off rather than scaring him. He tried the door first. Warm air rushed inside. Stiles didn’t know what exactly he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect the void. The rest of the house was missing. His room was the only thing floating in the absolute nothingness. Well, not exactly nothing as he could see the ground far below. The drop could be around a few hundred feet, he was not sure and it was foggy down there but he could see flashes of light emanating from the ground below occasionally.

  _L'appel du vide_.

Stiles knew of the French word which described the psychological phenomenon that urged one to just let go and fly off the ledge. Stiles never pegged himself at suicidal. If anything he was pretty opposite of suicidal. He loved life, however pain in the ass it could be sometimes, but living was worth it. Worth every moment of the uncertainty and the horrors and the trials and tribulations. And yet here he was contemplating jumping into the void the second time in a span of few hours.

 _L'appel du vide_ indeed!

So he closed the door hastily before he did something stupid and went to the window. He slid the glass window open and looked below. It was the same dark void, as if his room had flown off into the space and orbiting the earth.

Stiles cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

“Help me!”

His voice bounced back to him instead of reaching any destination. Stiles suddenly realized he was really and truly alone in this. It was only him with his nightmares to keep him company.

Fucking delightful!

Stiles dragged his desk chair and sat down by the window, propping his elbows on the windowsill.

And waited.


	22. Chapter 22

Derek was not thinking at all, had suspended his capacity to think, to ponder, to judge, had shut down that part of brain that screamed self-preservation above everything, something he tended to do when it came to put somebody else’s life before his own (not that it was such a tremendous sacrifice on his part).

His body moved, prompted by one single determination. He pulled Dean back with the help of the iron hold he still had on his right arm. Dean’s eyes were glazed over, but he was trying to wrench free of Derek’s hold. Derek moved to stand in front of Dean, showing the monster his back, though his every instinct screamed against it, and punched Dean in the face. Before Dean fell on his back, Derek hauled him up in a fireman-carry and stepped off the road.

He instantly knew why they were warned against it for it was not ordinary rock as they imagined it to be. It was burning coal and the soles of his shoes were gone in an instant. Derek hissed in pain as the skin of his feet burnt under him. Each step brought unbearable agony as the skin renewed and burned over and over, but each step also got him further from the road, away from the demon who was now howling in useless fury, but couldn’t seem to be able to get off the road.

Derek concentrated on what was in front of him or at the very least tried to. It was difficult to focus on anything else other than the acute pain. He tried to think of something else, of Dean Winchester, a comforting weight on his shoulder, unconscious, but still breathing. A bright-eyed hunter, cocky, smart and model-gorgeous, just like Kate.  He tightened his hold on Dean. He was nothing liked Kate, not even remotely. Unlike Kate he had put his life and sanity on line, multiple times in the last few days for Derek and the pack, but mostly for Derek. He was not sure what to make of it. The more he had tried to push him away with the gruffness he usually surrounded himself with, the more determined Dean had been to get under his skin. Derek was puzzled and intrigued by the hunter and God forbid if Dean ever got the wind of the ‘intrigued’ part.

Another step, which seemed like another day in hell. One foot before the other. Derek’s eyes watered. He could do it. Even though he could smell his own charred flesh. It took everything in him not to throw up right there for it dredged up memories he usually try to bury deep in his psyche. He had to go on for stopping meant being slow roasted from the heat and Dean would die along with him. Derek took a leap over a crevice. He couldn’t help crying out as he landed, balancing himself even as his vision had started to blur in pain. He allowed himself to be terrified, not because he would die, but because he would again witness somebody being burnt alive because of him. Derek shook his head and squinted ahead through the fog and darkness. He didn’t want Dean Winchester to die. Suddenly it seemed to be his mission in life to keep the sonofabitch alive.

He took another unsteady step, the first one of the few before which he couldn’t take it anymore.

…

It was Malia who spotted Stile. He was in his room, seated at the window, staring off into the space.

The problem was the said room was perched at the top of a pointy cliff, balanced precariously and there was a wide chasm between where their road ended abruptly, dropping off a thousand feet all of a sudden and Stiles’ window. If Malia had not noticed it and had not yanked Chris back, he would have stepped right off the edge.

“Stiles!”  She yelled.

Stiles’ attention snapped to them, but it was difficult to tell with the fog surrounding the tiny room.

“Is that…Malia? Malia, I am over here. Holy God, is it really you or am I dreaming again?”

“You are not dreaming.” Chris assured. “We are here for you.”

“Can you come and get me?” Stiles yelled back. His tone lacked his usual exuberance. He sounded resigned, like he had already given up hope.

Malia stepped up and stood right at the edge. “We are going to get you out of there. Just sit tight.”

“Ok.” Stiles still seemed dubious. “Sitting tight.”

Malia exchanged a glance with Chris. “Well, show-time.”

“Does that thing work or is it only for show?” Malia pointed at Chris’ crossbow.

“Only one way to find out.” Chris aimed and took two consecutive shots, loading the bow with a ruthless efficiency. The first one missed the house altogether and the second one pierced into the wall, but it was far off the window.

Chris drew in a deep breath, took aim and exhaled, releasing the arrow with a sharp twang.

“Should have warned a guy.” Stiles yelped indignantly as the arrow lodged itself right below the window.

Chris took aim again and this time the arrow had a rope attached to it. It lodged right next to the previous arrow. Chris tied the other end of the rope securely at the tail end of another arrow and drove it into the ground. He repeated the process with two more arrows creating a triangle of tight-rope lines drawn across the chasm.

“Are you ready?” He asked Malia who nodded wordlessly and took off her boots. She climbed on the rope like an acrobat, her arms spread wide and started walking down the rope, towards Stiles who was frozen at the window. She didn’t even need to touch the two other ropes on each side for balancing.

“Nononononono….bad idea. Not happening. Malia go back. I am going to die of heart attack. Oh my God, both of you are insane!”

Malia sent a smirk in his direction without breaking her stride. She walked at a snail’s pace, but she advanced steadily. She was halfway down the rope when they first noticed it. A raven swooping down and pecking her on the head. Malia cursed loudly and righted her balance. The raven flew off into the fog, but reappeared soon, hovering menacingly over Malia.

“Malia, hold on for a bit.”

Malia looked at Chris and nodded. She stopped walking and braced herself as Chris raised his shotgun to take aim. He got the raven in the first attempt.

“Go Malia. Quick.”

Malia didn’t need to be told twice. She increased her pace in the last few yards and Stiles looked like he would have an aneurysm any moment. But finally she was able to tumble through Stiles’ window and roll over once before rising to her feet and sweeping Stiles into a hug.

“You came for me.” Stiles clung to her like a lifeline, his voice choking with emotion.

“Of course you idiot.” Malia released him to punch him on the shoulder. “We brought the cavalry.”

“My hero.” Stiles placed a hand over his heart playfully, but Malia was not fooled. She took his hand gently into hers which was trembling slightly.

“What happened here?” She asked the boy who had taught her the meaning of gentleness and kindness, of friendship and sacrifice. The loss of being whose object of affection had stung more than she cared to imagine.

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing that I would like to remember. Let us just go.”

Malia didn’t comment on how minutes ago he had been protesting there was no way he could walk on a rope and that he would sooner get clobbered on the head. Stiles’ eyes were dark and haunting and Malia didn’t ask questions.

“Come on.” She tugged on his wrist. “I will be right behind you.”

Stiles took off his shoes, took a deep breath and climbed on the window ledge.

“It is ok. Walking on a tightrope across a large chasm. I know all about it.” Stiles rambled, nodding to himself. “I just need to find balance by positioning my centre of mass directly over my base support. I need to bend my knees ever so and and…oh my God…I am going to fall.”

He clutched the rope with both hand, crouching on the windowsill.

“No you won’t.” Malia bunched his t-shirt in her fist. “Stand up and don’t look down. I have got you.”

Stiles obeyed wordlessly though his legs were trembling under him.

“I can’t walk.” Stiles panicked. “I am going to fall.”

“I am not going to let you.” Malia said. There was steel in her voice. “Now move. One step before the other.”

“Come on Stiles.” Chris shouted from across the chasm. “You can do it.”

Stiles took a tiny step.

“That is it Stiles.” Malia enthused from his back. “Just one step at a time. You will be there in no time. Just keep on moving.”

And Stiles did exactly that. He moved at a much slower pace than Malia and he kept his eyes firmly on Chris who was grunting out occasional words of encouragement. Stiles blocked the knowledge of the vast abyss below him. There was only the rope, Chris at the end of it and Malia who had his back. Nothing else existed right at this point.

A dark shadow swooped past him making him flail. He grabbed the ropes on his both sides before losing balance.

“Stiles, freeze.” Malia ordered.

Stiles would panic later. There would be time. If he started panicking now there was a good chance he would fall to his death taking Malia with him. So he couldn’t afford to be scared right now. Two shots reverberated throughout the dead valley as another raven fell from the sky. Stiles tried hard not to follow its trajectory down.

Eyes at the front.

“Come on Stiles.” Chris was not looking at him. He was looking at something beyond Stiles’ room perched on a little cliff. He looked troubled.

Stiles started walking with Malia holding onto his t-shirt. The warmth of her fingers seeped into his skin, firm and reassuring. There was that sound again, of flapping of wings.

“Malia.” There was something in Chris’ eyes that alerted them and they didn’t need to look back to know the odds were against them.

“Jump. There is no time.”

“Whoa…what?”

“Bend down and grab the rope Stiles.” Malia urged. “I am holding on to you.”

Stiles reached down with closed eyes. He felt his feet slipping off the rope as the centre of body mass shifted abruptly. Stiles grabbed the rope with a gasp just as his feet slipped. Malia plastered himself on his back immediately reaching around him to grab the rope with one hand and wrap her other arm securely around Stiles.

“Don’t look.” She instructed just as she unsheathed her claw and slashed the rope free. Stiles felt air whooshing out of his lungs as they dropped through thin air. His scream was lost in the wind howling around him. The only thing that kept him from having an honest to God heart attack was Malia draped all over him. Then she twisted mid air, wrapping around Stiles with her long limbs. Stiles understood the reason when the rope started to swing sideways with both of them dangling from the tail end and finally their body clashed with the side of a cliff. Malia took the brunt of the collision and she grunted painfully. Stiles was sure she had broken a few of her ribs and because of her Stiles had escaped only with a few minor bruises. There was no time to feel grateful for the sounds of flapping wings were soon upon them. Stiles couldn’t help opening his eyes this time only to see a sight that would haunt him forever if he ever lived to see another day.

They were dangling over a canyon around thousand feet deep with fog rolling below their feet, partially blurring the view. Malia had blood coming out of her nose and mouth, but she was holding onto some invisible crevice in the rock so that they didn’t go swinging again. A more immediate threat was the horde of ravens, a few dozen of them at a first glance, flying towards them.

“Chris, pull us up.” Malia screamed.

Chris did, millimeter by millimeter, and Stiles shrank inward, trying to be invisible as Malia helped Chris pull them up by bracing themselves occasionally against the rock or pulling them up while never once letting go of her hold on the rope. The birds screeched ominously and swooped upon them within a minute. Malia slashed at one which came straight for her eyes. Another one managed a vicious peck on Stiles’ hand.

“Stiles, don’t let go.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the rope.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” he gritted out. He knew he wouldn’t. They would have to peck at his flesh until the bones are exposed and still then he wouldn’t let go. After everything they had gone through he refused to die by crazy, man-eating ravens. As if on cue the ravens around them became more aggressive. Frustrated and angered, Malia let out a terrifying howl. The ravens were stunned for a few minutes and some even flew away.

“Now Chris.” Stiles called.

Chris started pulling them up at double speed and this time Stiles also tried to find handholds and footholds to prop himself up.

“Come on, come on, come on…” he chanted for he could hear the tell-tale sound of wings again. The ravens were coming back and by the sound of it, in a greater number.

“Hold on Stiles.” Malia pulled herself up, placing one foot on Stiles’s shoulder and in a minute she had disappeared above.

“Malia.” Stiles screeched. Malia’s head popped above him and Stiles let out a relieved breath. He was closer to the lip of the cliff than he had anticipated.

“Come on Stiles.” Malia had now joined Chris in pulling him up. Suddenly Stiles was frozen in terror as he remembered Derek pulling him up just like this and he made the mistake of looking down. There was nothing but emptiness staring back at his face.

“Stiles, look up.” Malia urged. “Just a few feet more.”

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t go on even if he wanted to. He knew they would get him again, the moment immediately before he felt the secure ground under his feet.

“Stiles we are not returning without you. So it is your choice really.” Malia’s tone hardened. Stiles squinted up. Even though he couldn’t see the exact expression on her face in the gloom, he knew she meant every word. He made himself move again. Just a little bit more. He would be with his friends again. He was not sure when or how he was hauled up the last few feet or how he escaped from the ravens with a few minor cuts except for a deep gouge just above his left eye, but the next thing he knew he was lying on his back, looking up at the grey, starless sky while Chris and Malia crouched by him looking concerned.

“I am ok.” Stiles croaked, the minute he was sure he was alive and well. “Let us get the hell out of out here, wherever this is.”

Chris offered him a hand helping him stand upright.

“It is called limbo.”

“I got stuck in limbo?”

“We still are stuck in limbo.” Malia deadpanned.

“Only me.” Stiles shook his head.

“In your defense it was the hunter, Dean. Who thought it was a good idea to send you here. He said you were being tortured or something.”

“Or something.” Stiles shuddered. “This one time I am going to let it go or I have a good mind to draw a devil’s trap above his head just for fun.”

“Come on let’s find the rest of the party.”

They started the long walk back to the place they had parted ways. There was no way to tell how much time had lapsed. The concept of time in limbo was quite different than it was in the mortal world. But all of them felt the urgency, the burning need to go back to their pack and they started to jog after sometime.

“Do you feel it?” Stiles asked, increasing his speed.

“I do.” Malia said grimly.

…

Scott would have stepped right on the burning brimstones if Kira had not restrained him with everything she had got.

“Derek.” He yelled desperately as the older wolf swayed on his feet, looking ready to fall down any minute.

“Let me GO!” He screamed. “He would fall down and he would die Kira…just let me…”

“You are not healing Scott.” She was trying to reason with him. “You cannot go. Derek is ok. He is coming this way. Just call out to him.”

“Derek, look at me dude.” Scott fell on his knees, looking over at Derek across the fiery distance. “Tell us you can see us. Please Derek.”

Derek’s eyes suddenly snapped up, re-focused and then he was looking right at them.

“Scott, just stay put right there.” Derek’s voice was weak.

Kira and Scott shuddered in unison as they took in the state of his feet. His very bones had started to show through the charred flesh. But he kept on moving. Dean had just begun to stir on his shoulder.

“Come on Derek.” Scott chanted under his breath. Kira braced herself, ready to go over the moment Derek started to fall down. The smell of burnt flesh pervaded their olfactory senses and even with his werewolf superpower gone, Scott could smell it pretty clearly. “Come on. You have to make it across.”

“Scott…” Derek sounded tired, resigned and in pain.

“No. You said you would always be there with me. You promised Derek. You are never going to go off again. You cannot do this. Come on Derek. Come home to us.”

Dean stirred on his shoulder again, reminding why he couldn’t in fact let go.

He closed his eyes against the blinding pain, let it recede in the background. He had made it almost an art form, to tune out the pain, and this time he had something tangible to hold on to. A careless smirk, a pair of green eyes startling in their innocence even after everything, a quick tongue that cut sharp and deep…he could hold on to all these, trying to make something out of the rubble he called his life or he could at least man up and say _yes I too feel the same acute hatred which I am sure is usually reserved for somebody whom we kind of opposite of hate_.

“Mnhhh…” Dean slurred from where his face is pressed against his heart.

Derek gathered his last ounce of strength and started to run.

…

Dean woke up to chaos. Everybody was trying to speak at once and it was Stiles whose voice rose above everybody else.

“Sleeping Beauty is awake. We will have the answer soon.”

He blinked at the faces hovering above him. His first instinct was naturally a headcount before asking how and what. Clearly he had missed a lot since Stiles was among them now, and though he looked a bit worse for wear he was at the very least alive, which was more than Dean had bargained for.

“Cool scar.” He pointed at the nasty-looking hole above his eyebrow. Then he realized something with a jolt. One particular face was missing from the crowd of anxious faces.

“Wait, where is Derek?”

They looked away and down almost in unison, parting for his sake. Dean sat up immediately, clutching his jaw. If the damn thing was broken he was going to have to kill the werewolf. He was rather fond of his jaw. Then his words died on his tongue as his eyes fell on Derek. He was curled up into a foetal ball, knees to the chest and all that jazz and he had his back towards them, but the slight tremor was impossible to miss.

“Derek?” Dean crawled on his hands and knees to reach him and then he gasped. Derek’s legs looked like they had been set on fire and slow roasted until chunks of flesh had been falling off them and he was healing very, very slowly. But even more shocking than that was the look on Derek’s face. He didn’t seem to notice anybody at all. His eyes were open, but with a vacant look and he was mumbling too low for the human ear.

“What is he saying?” He demanded. “Why is he…how did it happen?” He felt an unreasonable anger bubbling up within him. It was mostly directed at himself. Derek had got hurt again, because of him.

“He stepped off the road. It seems the ground over here is made of burning brimstones.” It was Stiles who answered him. “And no I don’t know what he is saying. He had been like this ever since he had reached the road and collapsed with you on his shoulder.”

“He is chanting their names.” Malia whispered, staring intently at Derek. “His family.”

Dean buried his face in his hands. He seriously couldn’t take it anymore. How much one guy had to suffer before losing it completely and he thought he had it rough. Evidently fate had thrown Derek in his path for a reason.

“Malia, can’t you help him?” Stiles said and from his voice he was thinking in the same line.

“Only wolves can take pain it seems.” Malia informed. “Kira and I don’t have that power. Scott is unable right now…”

“So let us go back so that I can help him.” Scott interjected.

“That I can do.” Dean said hollowly. They had been successful in their mission and there was no body count. But why didn’t it feel much like a victory?

He closed his eyes and raised his blade to slash across his wrist. The portal appeared in front of them floating in the air, a hole minutely shimmering like heat rising from asphalt and through it Derek’s loft could be seen. He opened his eyes and jerked his chin towards it, telling them to move it. Scott shoved Stiles through it first, followed by Kira and Malia. Chris hauled Derek up in his arms who still seemed to be completely out of it. Dean had a strange surge of emotion on seeing it. For a second he had to actively tap down the urge to wrestle Derek away from Chris. It was crazy. He was going crazy in this shithole. Dean shook his head.

“Go on Scott.” He looked at the teen who looked undecided.

“You are coming after me, right?” He asked.

“Yeah. In a minute.” He tried to smile, but his facial muscles felt all wrong, like he had no idea how to do it. Scott nodded, gullible as always.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them in a moment to see the demon he had summoned standing right in front of him, blocking the portal. He was quite beautiful with an ashen complexion, long, white mane and violet eyes. If he didn’t know better Dean would have pegged him for an angel. But he did know better and knew angels and demons seldom looked their respective parts.

“What do you want from me Belial?”

The demon smiled, kind and sweet, the smile that would melt the stoniest of hearts. He had dimples on both cheeks. Dean wondered vaguely if Derek had dimples. He had the kind of face that would have dimples – with his wide, dreamy eyes and straight arrow nose and beautiful lips, he must have dimples too, if he smiled. But the point was moot since he never did. Dean wondered what it would take to make his smile. Multiple times.

Belial laughed, low and amusing. “You have it bad my friend.”

“You are no friend of mine.” Dean hissed.

“Still you had no qualms to make a deal with me.”

“You forced the deal upon me by kissing me.”

“Oh no.” Belial smirked again. “That was all you. Don’t put it on me. You couldn’t keep your hands or in this case your lips off him as soon as you had the opportunity, didn’t you? I just facilitated the opportunity to present itself. So don’t you go and blame me.”

“So you are coming for me.” Dean sighed.

“I am coming for you.” Belial conceded. “Live your life to the full until then. Probably steal a few more kisses while at it. He is not unwilling, you see, once you get him let down his guard.”

“Can I at least know what I traded my soul for?” Dean tried not to think about the implication of what the demon was hinting at.

“Do you really think I would have let your friends go this easily? From limbo?” Belial arched one perfect eyebrow. “Are you really that naïve?”

“So my soul in exchange of a few supernatural creatures, their pet human and a retired hunter?” Dean scowled. “That is just great.”

“Don’t forget your mate?”

“What?” Dean’s jaw slackened in shock.

“Your mate.” Belial said slowly, like speaking to a five-year old. “The one you gave your heart the very first moment your eyes met his, the one who drives you crazy but holds you together at the same time, the one who literally walked on fire to save you, the one you would protect with all your miserable existence and still it wouldn’t be enough. Need I go on?”

“I am a human. I don’t have a mate.” Dean protested.

“So humans don’t fall in love, don’t make promises or give life for people they love? Besides, you are not strictly human. Are you?”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dean was suddenly angry at the demon. He could have easily gone through his life or whatever was left of it without this added burden.

“What does it matter?” Belial said nonchalantly. “You are going to be mine anyway. Pretty soon.” He disappeared.

Dean stumbled through the portal in a daze and when the anxious kids crowded around him he had just enough energy left to close the portal before collapsing into a heap. Before he gave in to exhaustion and delayed shock he felt strong, tan arms picking him up from the floor and tucking him on the leather sofa. He burrowed into it with a happy sound when the same hands tucked a pillow under his head. He snuggled into the pillow unconsciously. It smelled divine. Like pine trees and juniper. It vaguely reminded him of somebody. Dean couldn’t be bothered to remember for he was drifting off to sleep in no time.

Mate, huh! Belial actually thought he would buy it. Stupid demons.


	23. Chapter 23

“So...”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glared. “Dude, I didn’t even say anything.”

“You don’t need to.” Derek grumbled. “You have the look of one who is going to.”

“The look of one?” Dean repeated blankly.

“The swinging back and forth of your arms like a schoolboy about to break some bad news to the parents along with that stupid look on your face.”

“Stupid look on my face?” Dean repeated again, in a flat tone.

“Yeah, the look that makes me want to punch you.”

“But –”

“Not.one.word.”

“But we never got to discuss the kiss!” Dean exclaimed and when Derek looked daggers at him he shrugged. “That was not one word.”

Derek rolled his eyes, predictably.

“Why are you still here?” He complained. “Everybody else had gone home.”

“I woke up here.” Dean replied nonchalantly, leaning against the kitchen counter. “And you are making bacon.”

“I am not cooking breakfast for you.”

“Looks like you already did.” Dean pointed towards the stack of pancakes on a plate. A delicious smell had woken him up from the deep and restful slumber for which he was grateful for sleep didn’t come easy to him these days. When he had reluctantly stumbled out of the leather sofa and followed the smell, he had found Derek in the tiny kitchenette wielding a spatula. Derek had scowled at him when he had given him his biggest grin. Dean didn’t know anyone was capable of making pancakes angrily, but Derek evidently managed it.

There must have been something wired wrong in Dean’s brain that he found Derek’s morning grumpiness utterly adorable.

“These are all mine.”

“All...thirty of them?” Dean raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Yes.” Derek gritted out. “Now get out of my loft before I throw you out.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I am calling your bluff. You are not going to…….ow, ow, ow –” Before he could blink Derek had him by the collar and was dragging him across the loft. “My leg hurts Derek…let go.”

Derek immediately froze.

“The damn thing hasn’t healed.” Dean muttered, looking down at his twisted ankle.

“Why?” Derek wondered aloud. He had still not left his hold on Dean’s collar, but he was using his grip for half supporting his weight this time. “We were there only in spirit. Once we got back to our bodies our wounds disappeared except for yours. Why is that?”

Dean deflated. “Maybe I never really got out of there.”

Derek stared at him for a few moments before taking his hand gently and leading him to the leather sofa.

“Sit.” He pointed towards the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged from there with a tray with two plates heaped with pancakes glazed with honey, bacon and two mugs of coffee.

He set them down on the coffee table and plopped down at the other end of the sofa.

“We will eat first.”

Dean eyed Derek skeptically trying to decipher his sudden change in mood. Derek’s face was calm, neutral, bordering on serene. He decided to humour the wolf instead of grilling him about it. Besides he was hungry and the combined smell of bacon and pancakes was making his mouth water.

They didn’t talk while eating, demolishing the pile of pancakes easily between them. The food was good. Surprisingly so. Bacon crisped to perfection and the pancakes soft and fluffy with a hint of cinnamon. The coffee was a bit too sweet for his liking but he was hardly complaining when he was feeling so content and satiated. Dean suddenly had a hard time remembering the last time he had thoroughly enjoyed a meal.

“So you did cook breakfast for me.” Dean finally broke the silence, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans earning a disgusted look from Derek.

Derek regarded him coolly over the rim of his coffee mug, but didn’t deign to reply.

“Why were you trying to chase me away then?” Dean laughed at the ridiculous werewolf and put his feet on the couch sinking in it until his head was propped up against the armrest.

Derek looked at his bare feet sticking under his jeaned thighs, but didn’t say anything. The wolf was so warm. Dean wiggled his toes experimentally under Derek who only glared at him half-heartedly.

“Now what?” Dean asked.

“Now you talk.” Derek kept the empty coffee mug on the table and turned to him, giving him his full attention.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Dean blurted out. “Talk about what?”

“You are not telling us everything.” Dean shrank inward under his steady scrutiny. It looked like the multi-coloured eyes could peer directly into his soul, if he still had any. “Why does your body suffer at the same time as your spirit? Why did you say you feel like you have not escaped hell? Why are you looking like that for?” The last line was uttered irritably for Dean was staring at Derek again.

“I didn’t think you cared.” Dean frowned, trying to figure out the enigmatic wolf. For once he had decided to go for honesty instead of flippancy as was his default mode. “And that me dying wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing for you unless you don’t cause it or it happened right in front of you.”

Derek gave him a look.

“You thought wrong.” Derek said evenly looking him into the eyes.

“I don’t understand.” Dean said, slowly.

Derek heaved a put upon sigh. “Look, however much we distrust each other, it is probably in everybody’s interest that we work together for the time being.” Then he added more quietly, “and contrary to what you believe I am not a fan of you dying, in front of me or elsewhere.”

“You can say that again. More slowly this time. I am not sure I got it the first time.”

“I am not playing around anymore.” Derek said sternly. “So if you think you can be serious for two minutes…”

“Ok.” Dean sobered up immediately. “Should we put all our cards on the table then?”

“Let’s.” Derek agreed. “You go first.”

Dean scowled at the wolf, but didn’t disagree.

“I am not going to be among you mortals for a long time.” He said, looking up at the ceiling. “My time is limited and we can do nothing about it. We have tried to find out how to break my curse, but till now there is nothing.” He sighed.

“Sam is still researching like crazy and I don’t think he will rest until I am finally gone for good.” Dean was wondering why his voice was so steady. It was not like he was not scared. Not of death itself, but of what would come after it. Still he somehow managed to keep his cool. Was it because he had resigned himself to fate?

“I worry about him you know?” Dean looked at Derek finally who was looking at him thoughtfully. “He is my kid brother and though I know he is capable of taking on demons single-handedly, he will always be my responsibility. I will always worry about him, watch over him, try to take away his pain, hide him away somewhere safe…like that is even remotely possible.”

Derek was staring back at him and there was this soft look in his eyes that said _I know exactly what you mean_. And Dean knew Derek got it somehow. How it felt to be the one half of the sibling duo when your world had crumbled down around you. He knew how it felt when you try to give your all, unquestionably, to somebody you call your brother, even though the person might hate your guts sometime and you may not see eye to eye with him, still you feel this need, this compulsion to protect him at all cost, because he is precious and unique and you are proud of him.

“Sam is welcome at Beacon Hills anytime.” Derek suddenly said. “I hope you know that. He was my friend too…is my friend.”

Dean wanted to point out how Derek had threatened them on their second day at Beacon Hills. He wanted to make a joke or a sarcastic comment. He wanted to ask if the blanket invitation included him as well. Somehow the only thing came out from his mouth was a strangled “thank you.”

“But maybe first we should concentrate on finding a cure.” Derek went on, waving off his gratitude. “If that is the only thing that is wrong with you right now.”

Dean gulped. He knew that Derek knew something else was up. That he might have even less time than he had originally anticipated. But why bother burdening Derek with the information when it was all but inevitable.

“If I give in to the Mark, I will go insane and become a demon even before I die. If I resist the Mark, I will still go insane and probably die at Chris’ hands and then I will go ahead and become a demon.” He huffed. “You think there may be something more?”

“We will find a cure.” Derek nodded to himself instead of answering. “I will be in touch with a few alphas. There must be one.”

“So, truce then?” Dean raised an eyebrow, digging his toes deeper into the warmth of Derek’s body. “I am in no fear of losing my toes if I do this?”

Derek stood up and Dean immediately missed the warmth.

“Don’t.” He said, looking over his shoulder before padding away.

Dean felt like shit. Why was he acting like a compulsive flirt around Derek he would never know. It was like he couldn’t even help himself. Derek made him lighter, made him forget for a little while the noose hanging over his head. It was easy to let himself loose, to have a little fun, to let the chips fall where they might, but he had never stopped to consider what it might feel like from Derek’s point of view.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He needed to get away. He had his own apartment for God’s sake. He had his own ‘pack’ to look after. Why was he still here?

“Is my car still here? If Sam has taken it, would you mind giving me a lift?”

He startled at the loud thud and opened his eyes to see Derek looming over him with a sleek laptop in his hands and a mulish expression on his face.

“You are not going anywhere.” Derek declared, waving over the pile of books he had deposited unceremoniously on the coffee table. “Since I have filled you with my food you are going to help me with my work today.”

“What are you working upon?” Dean sat up, eyeing the pile of old, worn-out books warily.

“A new beastiary.” Derek drew an armchair and sat down, facing him. “A much comprehensive one than the Argent’s.”

He shoved the laptop into Dean’s hands.

“I read. You type.”

“Who said I get to type.”

“Do you happen to read Latin?” Derek asked pleasantly. “I can give you a crash course. It is not that difficult.”

“I will type.” Dean said immediately.

“You do that.”

“Don’t need to sound so smug.”

“And here he we go again.” Derek muttered too low for Dean’s hearing.

…

“Dean, will you step out on the balcony with me for a bit?” Stiles asked.

Dean looked at the pale, lanky human boy and nodded. He was not worried. Stiles was one of the archetypical good guys, but he had never seen the kid this serious before and it made him anxious. He cast a quick glance around. Derek’s loft was crowded. The Mccall pack was there along with Chris Argent and Sam. His brother was busy in what looked like a deep discussion with Scott. The two had bonded well in the last few days. Castiel was talking with Lydia and she was smiling at him gently, which seemed a bit out of place in her face. Probably she got it, being somewhat god-like among the mortals, the loneliness and the dissociation and the travails. She was clearly not intimidated by the angel of the Lord. She looked at Castiel with something akin to compassion. Castiel was drinking her words like perched earth.

Dean’s eyes locked with Derek’s across the loft and something electric passed through his body. From the way Derek’s eyes widened minutely, Dean was sure he felt something similar. Then neither of them was looking away. They had been translating and paraphrasing and jotting down relevant points from old, dusty books from the Hale vault all day, forgoing lunch, until the pack had invited themselves in. Stiles had snatched away the book from Derek’s lap, silencing his protest by shoving a burger at him. Derek had grumbled under his breath, but had started wolfing down the food. Kira had hugged him from behind delivering a quick peck on the top of his head affectionately and Derek had batted her away playfully. Dean hated the easy camaraderie between them.

And now they were staring at each other across the room and Dean was quite incapable of moving.

Stiles sighed and grabbed his arm. “Let us go before you jump Derek in front of everybody.”

That seemed to get Derek’s attention who broke the eye contact and promptly buttonholed Chris, leaving Dean no choice but to follow Stiles.

The balcony had a beautiful view of Beacon Hills and it was soundproof.

“Derek looks like a badass.” Stiles began without any preamble. “I can see the appeal. Hell, I started questioning my own sexuality after I met him in the woods for the first time. He was mysterious and dangerous. And later there was this one time he had me pinned against a wall. Talk about a confusing boner.” Stiles laughed uneasily.

“But you must understand one thing about Derek. He is completely different inside. The Derek Hale that you get to see is a mask. The Derek we had the privilege to come to know and understand is quiet and gentle. He is kind of special.”

“Stiles I…”

“No, just…listen.” Stiles put up one finger and Dean sealed his lips. “People see a beautiful thing and try to destroy it. Call it human nature, but it cannot be helped. Derek bore the brunt of it. The sheer amount of people trying to break him down is…I don’t even know what is with that. Why him of all people. Why he was singled out for being the subject of a mind-game by not one but two psychopaths one of whom was his own uncle even before he turned eighteen. Anyways, that is not important right now. The problem is that Derek has always been helpless against manipulations because he keeps on saying how he doesn’t trust people, but ironically he lets people in easy.”

Stiles took a deep breath looking Dean right into his eyes. “What I mean to say is that Derek Hale is not an easy fuck if you are looking for one. If you hurt him in any way either emotionally or physically your brother won’t even find your body.”

“I have…”

“And Lydia told me to tell you she would take out your eyes first. I would take her seriously if I were you.”

Dean stared at Stiles for a few seconds. Stiles stared right back, without flinching. There was nothing but conviction in his whisky eyes. He understood what Stiles was saying. Hell, Stiles couldn’t have been clearer even if he wanted to. But Dean chose to be deliberately obtuse.

“Why do you think I will hurt Derek after we got each other’s back in two deadly terrains?” He asked.

Stiles looked down at his shoes and then looked up again, meeting Dean’s gaze.

“Derek was tortured beyond human endurance and some of which had been to save people he cared for. His body was used against his consent repeatedly, even by people who were supposed to be his friends.” A haunted look came into Stiles’ eyes. “It is only that he has such innate goodness that we have him fighting by our side rather than him changing camps. I still wonder sometimes how he takes everything in his stride and does it. Whatever idea you have of Derek, whatever front he puts up for people to see…that is…you must ignore that. It wouldn’t take a lot from you to break him.”

“Stiles…I don’t, I mean...” Dean almost yelled at Stiles, “I don’t know where you are getting this impression from –”

Stiles snorted.

“Ok, you have a point.” Dean conceded. “But if you haven’t noticed Derek barely tolerates me. He probably hates my guts, but putting up with me for sake of Sammy.”

“You still haven’t said what I want you to say.”

“I won’t hurt him.” Dean promised. He was shocked how quickly the promise tumbled from his lips. It was the easiest thing in the world.

“But you plan to leave. Don’t you?” Stiles shot back. “You are a hunter. You are eventually going to leave. What then?”

Dean had no answer to that. Stiles looked sad and knowing.

“I will let you mull over that.”

Stiles disappeared beyond the door to enter into the loft. Dean rested his elbows on the railing and stared vacantly ahead.

“Beer?”

Dean took the chilled bottle from Derek without words.

“If this is a bribe for spilling what Stiles and I talked about, prepare to be disappointed.”

“What? I can’t offer you beer without any ulterior motive?” Derek quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You are not that nice Hale and we all know it.”

Derek bit down on his lip, looking for all the world like fighting down a smile. The things he wanted to do to that lip. Dean averted his eyes quickly. What the hell did _that_ come from?

“Don’t worry about Stiles.” Derek stated. “He comes across as brass and arrogant but he is a good kid.”

“So you do admit that you like him.”

Derek looked at Dean. “You don’t have the luxury to dislike your family.”

“So they are family.”

“They are all I have left.” Derek answered and Dean fell silent.

“Do you miss your real one?” Dean whispered after sometime. “Has it got easy? Over the time?”

“Yes.” Derek muttered, tipping his head back. “And no and no.”

Dean shivered. He had his jacket inside the loft and the night air was getting chilly.

“I will head home with Sammy.” He said. “We will see you around?”

“Maybe.”

Dean walked towards the door.

“And Dean?”

Dean turned back, but Derek was staring into the darkness ahead, not looking at him.

“I don’t hate your guts.”


	24. Chapter 24

The sharp knock on the driver side window startled Stiles into spilling his coffee all over himself.

“Oh…hey.” Stiles smiled beatifically at the tall figure. “It is a nice day. To hang around. In a car. By the side of the road. Well, shit!”

Sam Winchester just gave him a look.

“Ok, so we have been following you.” Stiles blurted out.

“Dude!” Scott whisper-yelled.

“What?” Stiles turned towards his friend irritably. “You are supposed to be the one with wolfy senses. Couldn’t you sense him and warn me or something?” Stiles looked pitifully at the almost-empty cup and chugged the remaining liquid into his throat.

“I couldn’t hear him approach.” Scott replied. He was still looking a bit bewildered about that.

“Hunters.” Castiel said smugly, popping right beside Sam.

Stiles yelped.

“Why are you following us?” Sam asked ignoring Stiles’ death glare at the angel.

“You are following your brother, in a rented car.” Scott answered. “Excuse me to point out the obvious but Dean is kind of a loose cannon right now as long as he is under the influence of the Mark. We like to be kept updated.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Come on you guys. You are going to blow our cover.”

Stiles and Scott exchanged glances and shrugged. Then they got out of Stiles’ jeep to follow the hunter-angel duo and climbed into the backseat of their rented Toyota Corolla. It was parked discreetly behind a pick-up van.

“What is he doing in there?” Scott asked, jerking his chin to the nondescript apartment building Dean had disappeared into a quarter of an hour ago.

“I don’t know.” Sam said helplessly. “He wouldn’t tell me. We had a big argument this morning and it was only because of Cas that either of us was not hospitalized with a broken jaw or something.”

“That bad, huh?” Stiles asked, clearly surprised. The Winchester brothers seemed pretty tight. They kind of reminded him of his dad and him, two against the world. But he knew how it could take a toll when one of them was slowly losing his mind. Stiles suppressed a shudder as he remembered his possession by the nogitsune.

“He just…doesn’t share anything with me any more after he came out of limbo.” Sam bitched.  “He is turning into a stranger in front of my eyes and whatever I try to do only makes it worse.”

“Everything will be ok as soon as we find the cure.” Scott the ever hopeful one tried to soothe the younger hunter. “I know for a fact you and Chris are tearing through every book in the Argent library looking for it. Even Derek is holding marathon phone conferences with Satomi and some other werewolves his mother knew to find more about the lore of the Mark.”

“Speaking of Derek are we going to talk about the thing that we are trying hard not to notice?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” Scott huffed. “I tried to talk to Derek about it. Normally I wouldn’t have interfered, but I fear this time it will be bad on all sides if it blows in our face.”

“I bet that ended well.” Stiles said drily.

“He smacked me upside the head and told me to go work on my English essay that is long overdue.” Scott spread his hands. “And no I didn’t ask him how he knew.”

“I had a somewhat similar conversation with Dean too. He laughed in my face and wiped fake tears from his eyes saying that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever said and asked me if I was going to write a YA novel next, whatever that means, naming it _the full moon chronicles_ or something similar.” Sam ranted.

“Well, having an older brother is tough.” Scott agreed. “But having an asshole older brother is…” he just shook his head sadly.

“Oh my God! Tell me about it.” Sam said, relieved that at least one person shared his pain.

“Ahem…dude” Stiles started cautiously. “You don’t have an older bro.”

“Duh! I have Derek.”

The knock at the window made all of them jump, including Sam.

“Really?” Dean stared at his brother flatly who rolled down the window with a heavy sigh.

“Dude, how can you keep on creeping up on us?” Stiles said clutching his heart with one hand.

“Hunters.” Dean, Sam and Castiel said in unison.

“What are you doing here Dean?” Sam got out of the car and confronted his brother. “I thought we don’t keep secrets among us.”

“Back-up plan.” Dean scowled. “And no it doesn’t involve you. So stay out of it.”

He stomped away from them angrily.

…

Derek didn’t bother with niceties when he slipped inside the apartment through the bedroom window and caught the ex-hunter unaware.

“I have retired.” The man squeaked. “I haven’t done anything.”

“I want you to listen to me carefully.” Derek growled around his fangs which were mere inches away from the terrified man’s face whom he had pinned against the wall with a clawed hand around the throat. “You are not going to follow through the promise you just made to Dean Winchester.”

The hunter’s eyes widened.

“Yes, I heard every word of it. I know he had told you everything including how he can be killed.” Derek hissed. “And no, you don’t get to touch him. If you hurt a single hair on his head I am going to come after you and shred you in little pieces.”

Derek would have never hurt a human if he could help it, but he was ready to be thought of as a bloodthirsty monster if it saved the people he cared for.

“Understood?” He jerked the elder man until his teeth chattered.

“We have an honour code.” The hunter’s eyes reflected pure hatred. “I knew his father. Dean made me promise to hunt and kill him the moment he goes rogue.”

Derek slammed the man against the wall, drawing out a pained whimper. “Didn’t I make myself clear enough?”

“But he will kill innocent people.” The hunter protested weakly.

“He won’t.” Derek said confidently. “We will make sure of it. We protect Beacon Hills with our blood and sweat because it is our home. I don’t expect you to understand it.”

The hunter stared at Derek disbelievingly.

“Yeah, like I said.” Derek sneered. “You wouldn’t believe us. But we actually don’t like bloodshed and avoid them at all costs, but try to cross us and then you will never see me coming.”

Derek released him and stepped away.

“Other than that you have nothing to fear from me. It is not that I personally know the alpha of Morgan pack whose husband was killed by a hunter a decade ago.” Derek flashed the man a wolfish grin. “And the hunter disappeared from the face of earth before the grieving widow could find him and literally feed him to the wolves.”

“Please don’t…” the man closed his eyes and visibly fought down a shiver. “If I stay out of your way, will you promise not to tell them about my whereabouts?” He asked.

“You have my word.” He said evenly. “But hurt Dean Winchester or so much as think about letting out his secrets to any of your friends, you are history.”

“I won’t.” The man said shakily. “I will even forget I knew a Dean Winchester. I promise.”

Derek nodded gravely and slipped out of the window, silent like a ghost.

…

They had decided to meet at the new Thai restaurant on the main road. It was Stiles’ idea for apparently he didn’t trust Dean enough yet to let them into their usual meeting place which apparently was Derek’s loft. Dean would have rolled his eyes pointing out he had been at Derek’s loft often enough, but he didn’t. He knew his behaviour was becoming more and more erratic and he was having blackouts. When he came to his senses he had no idea where he had been or what he had been doing. Right now he himself wouldn’t trust him with anything and he didn’t want to hurt anybody accidentally.

“How was hell?” Stiles suddenly blurted out when they had been discussing how he had come to possess the Mark. The boy’s curiosity was boundless

“Kid, you cannot talk about that in a crowded restaurant!” Dean hissed.

“But you can talk about the Mark of Cain and God and Lucifer and all those jazz?” Stiles cocked an eyebrow.

“Hey, you picked the restaurant, remember.” Dean groused. “We all could have met at our place.”

“Neutral ground.” Stiles said evenly.

“We are surrounded by your pack members.” Dean waved his fork around. “How is it neutral?”

The blond boy and a dark-skinned one sitting nearest to them had the decency to duck their heads.

“How do you know that!” Stiles spluttered.

“None of them are exactly subtle.”

“Well you do have an angel at your side.”

“Angels are not supposed to take sides.” Castiel commented.

“But you will take his side.” Stiles argued.

“Who is taking whose side?”

Stiles startled.

“Dude, Scott, are you taking creeper lesson from Derek?”

Scott beamed at them, inordinately proud to scare the shit out of Stiles and pulled a chair.

“Hot chicken wings!” He made grabby hands at Stiles’ plate.

“Get your own.” Stiles hunched over his food protectively. “This is mine.”

Scott tried to steal a piece of hot chicken wings from his plate and Stiles’ fork came down viciously on his hand. Scott yelped in pain.

Sam’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Derek?”

Dean’s head snapped up immediately.

“No they are all here.” A pause. “I mean the entire pack.”

Sam listened some more.

“No, they are not doing anything except for trying to subtly surround us and no they are not doing anything violent. Much.”  


Stiles made a bitch-face at Sam.

“Yes they are…” Sam said looking straight at Scott and Stiles who had frozen midway between a scuffle over the food.

“Derek wants to talk to you guys.” Sam offered the device to Scott who looked at it like it might turn into a poisonous snake and bite him. He pointed to Stiles immediately.

Stiles took the phone with a put upon sigh, but he looked wary.

“My favourite wolfman.” Stiles faked a smile.

“What, no, we are not making a scene…yes, Scott is here…yes, everybody is here…no, I won’t…OK, Jesus, I am putting you on speaker.”

“…Mr. Yukimura calling me to ask almost the entire pack has skipped school and why are your father and Scott’s mother yelling at me for you guys are apparently neglecting your studies?”

Derek thundered from the phone. He had that no-nonsense voice on. Even the blond boy at the nearby table winced and the tall, pretty girl sitting near the door fidgeted in her seat.

“We are trying to help…” Scott started lamely.

“By skipping school?” Derek asked incredulously. “Get the hell out of there before I reach there and beat the crap out of you.”

“He wouldn’t do that?” Dean asked Stiles curiously.

Stiles was nodding his head solemnly. “Yep, he totally would. This is his I-am-not-kidding-when-I-say-I-will-rip-your-throat-out voice.”

Scott was staring at the plate of wings mournfully.

“Come on buddy. Let us move our asses now before the doom and gloom walks through the door.”

“Where the hell is he anyway?” Dean asked.

“At Chris’ place. They are going through some books.”

The two teens took their leave and along with them a suspicious amount of people left the restaurant, leaving it almost empty barring a couple of other tables.

“He takes school pretty seriously.” Dean commented.

“He used to be a TA.” Sam replied, not needing any elaboration on whom they were talking about. “I think he wanted to be a teacher, like his father.”

Dean started. Another random piece of information he would store away in his mental catalogue of the enigma called Derek Hale.

Sam snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Wake up Beauty.”

“You mean Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam let out an evil chuckle. “Nope. Only Beauty.”

“Aren’t you mixing up your fairy tales?” Dean drawled.

“Nope.”

Dean flicked his napkin at his idiot brother who just cackled louder.

“Why don’t you just tell him.” Sam said around a mouthful of food.

Dean tensed up immediately.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Sam swallowed the food noisily. “You could have done worse, you know. He is a good guy.”

“Are you talking about…”

Dean clapped a hand over Castiel’s mouth.

“See even Cas noticed it.” Sam pointed at the angel triumphantly. “The unimaginable amount of UST.”

Dean’s hand loosened in shock, a mistake obviously going by how Castiel finished the sentence.

“…the thing that is going on between you and Derek which both of you pretending so hard not be going on?”

Dean groaned. He is surrounded by traitors.

“You, stop talking to Stiles. He is a terrible influence.” He pointed at Sam accusingly. “And you,” he jabbed a finger on Castiel’s arm, “stop being so freakishly observant.”

“We want you happy.”

Oh God not the puppy eyes. Dean cannot deal with it now.

“Yes.” Castiel is nodding up and down. “You deserve it after what you have been through.”

Double puppy eyes.

Dean was so dead!

Especially because Derek was entering the restaurant, wearing a sky blue t-shirt and black denim and a fucking pair of Ray-bans that made him look more like a cover-boy of a fashion magazine than anybody had any right for. Dean was not sure how much of the conversation he had heard, but his face was expressionless as he took off the sunglass hooking it from the V-neck of his t-shirt and approached their table.

“You guys are forgetting there would be no happy ending for me.” Dean said, trying to take the thread of conversation a million miles away.

“Don’t say that!” Sam protested.

“I still have the Mark.” Dean pointed out pensively. He didn’t want to be a jackass and get everybody depressed along with him but it was getting increasingly difficult to give a shit about other people’s opinion about him.

“Don’t fret. We will figure out a way.” Derek commented settling down beside Dean like he belonged there. “We will deal with this together.”

All three of them turned to stare at Derek.

“What?” Derek frowned uncomfortably at the sudden attention. “We have dealt with a lot worse here at Beacon Hills before this and we have survived each one of it.”

“You really do care.” Dean blurted out before he could help it.

“You are Sammy’s brother and Chris’s nephew.” Derek said with exaggerated exasperation. “Of course I would help you.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “You will do it because I have secretly grown on you.”

Derek huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Like a mold.”

“Awwww….grump-puss.” Dean cooed. “You just admitted that I did grow on you.”

“How are you adult again?”

“Admit it that you like me and you want me around. Alive and well.”

“You are delusional.”

“I am yet to hear the denial.”

Derek growled under the breath and God that shouldn’t have been so damn sexy. Dean looked on almost hypnotized as Derek pressed his lips together, as if he was fighting a full-fledged smile. What would he not give to see Derek break into a real smile one day, sooner rather than later!

“I did admit not to hate your guts didn’t I? Don’t read too much into this ok?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it grump-puss.” Dean said, but he was grinning hugely.

“You are utterly ridiculous.” Derek said but his voice was impossibly fond.

“Your face is ridiculous.”

“Guys,” Sam cleared his throat. “Should Cas and I be somewhere else?”

Derek tensed up.

“No,” he said immediately. “In fact I have something to discuss with the two of you, something that we have found in Chris’s library.”

He took out his phone and tapped on the touch screen, searching for a something.

“Here it is.”

“What language is this?” Sam squinted at the screen showing the photo of a worn out page from what looked like a hand-written manuscript.

“Arabic.”

“What does it say?” Dean asked, “and wait do you read Arabic?”

“Modern Arabic, yes, but this is the ancient version.” Derek nodded at Castiel. “Do you think you can interpret this?”

“Hang on.” Dean held up one hand. “Dude, first let me process the fact that you can read Arabic. I thought you took Latin at school.”

“Derek is a polyglot.” Sam informed conversationally. “He is fluent in six languages.”

Derek opened his mouth and then closed it.

“You learnt more?” Sam looked at him incredulously.

“Um…I finally got down to learn Swahili. Got bored last summer when Beacon Hills was unusually quiet.”

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed and reached out without looking to close Dean’s mouth, which was hanging open.

“And Kira has been teaching me Japanese for a couple of months.” Derek continued, completely unaware of the reactions he was causing. “But I have only managed to cover the spoken aspect although I think I can fool somebody into thinking I have mastered it completely.”

Dean’s forehead hit on the table with a thud.

“Only picked up speaking fluent Japanese in a couple of months.” Sam nodded faintly. “Not a big deal at all. Anything else?”

“Well…”

“There is more?” Dean moaned with his face still plastered to the table top.

“I picked up some Marquesan when I was at French Polynesia with Cora during last Christmas.” The three of them stared at him again, in unison. It was a bit eerie. Dean looked like he could be a little bit sick though.

Derek did not exactly flush, but it was a close call.

“It was an interesting language. Very musical.” He crossed his arms mutinously, staring hard them, as if he was daring them to laugh in his face or something. “Besides they have many myths about shape-shifters.”

“And you picked up Mar…whatever-the-name while vacationing? Just for fun?” Dean was still staring at him like he had grown two heads.

“I am aware that I am a freak…”

“Freak?” Dean screeched. “Derek, buddy, you are absolutely, cluelessly, adorably the most awesome and interesting person I have ever had the privilege to know.”

Derek looked startled and then incredulous, like he thought it impossible somebody could call him ‘awesome’ or ‘interesting’. Then he had this tiny smile on his face, soft and pleased. Dean had to grip the armrests of his chair so that he didn’t do something extraordinarily stupid like lunging at the werewolf and…and to do what! Dean mentally gave himself a violent shake.

“I have to leave.” Dean muttered.

“What?” Sam asked confused. “You have absolutely nowhere else to be.”

“I do.” Dean was already standing up, pushing his chair back. “I need to be…”  he tripped as his left foot caught with the leg of Cas’ chair in his haste, but he righted himself quickly, “somewhere…literally anywhere which is not here.”

Sam, Cas an Derek stared after him as he stalked away and then at each other.

“Did he call me adorable or did I imagine that part?” Derek frowned.

“No, you didn’t.” Castiel assured.

“He must be losing his mind faster than we originally thought.” Derek said in all seriousness.

“Oh buddy,” Sam tried to hide his smirk. “You have no idea.”

“Huh! Ok, never mind. Coming back to the text I wanted to share with you.”

“Please tell us there is some good news Der.”

“We will know after we interpret it.” Derek replied. “The text was quoted in a book on demonic possessions. There is this paragraph on the first evil committed by humans. It talks about how to break the curse of the first-born. Rings any bell?”

“Well I do know the story of Qābīl and Hābīl in Quran runs parallel to the myth of Cain and Abel.”

“Exactly.” Derek said. “It is basically the same story of a brother murdering a brother told from a slightly different perspective.”

“So you think this text may hold the key?”

“It may. See, this quoted text is obviously pre-Quranic. We all know how every religious book that comes into being contains myths that pass on from generation to generation and can be actually be traced back to thousands of years.” Derek explained excitedly.

Sam had never heard Derek string so many sentences together at one go since they had arrived at Beacon Hills.

“You are still such a closet nerd.” Sam beamed at Derek, having a good mind to ruffle his hair as he used to do at New York, while Derek used to snap his teeth at him irritably, but he reined himself in. Derek was barely eighteen then and now he is a full-grown man with facial hair and a terrifying demeanor that screamed out the vibe of touch-me-and-die. Sam shuddered to think what else had happened to the quiet and shy boy to turn him into this.

Derek gave him a tight smile, probably thinking about the same thing.

“Yeah, so…” Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Cas, will you give it a try?”

Derek handed his phone over to Castiel and waited patiently as the angel read it over.

“Well, the language is very convoluted, but I can give you the gist.”

Sam motioned him to go on.

“It goes something like taking a life is the ultimate form of selfishness and can be countered only by reversing the act.” Castiel paused and looked between Sam and Derek.

“How does one reverse an act of selfishness?” Sam frowned.

“The actual word here can also mean ‘opposite’ instead of ‘reverse’.” Castiel said. “And opposite of selfish is to be selfless.”

“So it basically says that the curse can be removed by a selfless act.” Sam asked dubiously. “Don’t you think it is kind of simplistic?”

“Ancient curses are basically simple in nature. There is good and evil, light and darkness, joy and suffering and there is really no grey area in between.”

“But surely Dean has committed enough selfless acts even after he got the Mark to redeem himself. We have been fighting with the forces of darkness all the time. Dean doesn’t do it for any selfish motive. He saves people, risking his own life. It cannot get more selfless than that.”

“Maybe there is a particular quota he needs to fulfill.” Castiel mused. “Or maybe…” He trailed off, uncertain.

“What?” Sam prodded.

“Nothing.” Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we need to read the book and see if it offers more explanation elsewhere?”

“Ok.” Sam deflated. “Let’s get to it then. Derek, you coming?”

Derek hesitated a bit before thinking the hell with it and joining them. Time was running out and it was getting difficult to keep up the pretense that he didn’t give a damn.


	25. Chapter 25

“Who died?”

Dean lifted his head from where it was tucked into the crook of his elbow and groaned.

“Are you stalking me?” He scowled at the werewolf who had stealthily made his way through the crowded bar without him noticing and had taken a seat right beside him.

Some hunter he was!

“You wish!” Derek retorted.

“I really really don’t.” Dean forced himself to focus for his vision was already blurring around the edges, resulting in the fact there werewolf was looking almost surreal with a soft, glowy backlight. “Besides that can be fatal for you.”

Derek’s eyes flicked to his chest before resting on his face again. There was a frown between his eyebrows and Dean wanted to reach out and smoothen it out with his fingers before remembering what Sam told him about the werewolf hearing – about their being human lie-detectors.

He sighed. It was still too early in the evening for this shit.

“What are you doing here?” He asked resignedly.

“You mean other than trying to stop you from spilling your guts to random strangers?”

“That was _one_ girl!” Dean said indignantly, “and she was giving me this weird look the entire time. Now she is gone. I think I have scared her away.”

“Yeah, believe it or not, talking about how you tortured souls at hell tends to do that to people.” Derek nodded sagely. “It is shocking how badly people generally react to that!”

“But I talked about the good things too!” Dean protested, “funny things.”

“True. How you made an angel of the Lord watch porn. That one was classic.” Derek cocked his head to one side, as if considering. “You can use that as a pick-up line.”

“Hnph…”

Well, wasn’t Dean communicative today!

“Hey you, I am a specialist in angel boners. Wanna hook up?” Derek mimicked Dean’s voice with uncanny precision.

“Oh my God. You are one of those assholes!” Dean screeched.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” The werewolf deadpanned.

Dean shook his head to clear it. He could vaguely remember to enter the bar after he had stormed out of their apartment after getting into a fight with Sammy, yet again. He had urged his brother to kill him when there was time, but the knucklehead just wouldn’t listen. He might have been a bit more sloshed than he liked, but that didn’t mean he needed a baby-sitter. What gave the werewolf the idea anyways? But he was here and the warmth radiating from his body was almost comfortable especially because nowadays he always felt so damn cold all the time.

He really didn’t want to be alone and it was only after Derek had sat down beside him, with a living, breathing line of a body, a mass of muscles and bright green eyes and pure snark that he realized it.

Damn, he was pathetic!

“You know what I mean.” Dean side-eyed the werewolf, going a bit cross-eyed in the effort.

Well, he was not at his smoothest best, ok! Being in a death row was no fun, contrary to what people might believe. Although, why would he want to be at his smoothest best for the cryptic wolf sitting beside him? Hmm, he clearly needed more alcohol.

He snapped his fingers to the bored bartender and tapped his glass to signal for a refill.

“Why don’t you call it quits this evening?” Derek sighed.

“Stop with the mother-henning.” Dean glared at Derek. “Who put you up to this? Sammy?”

Derek looked away guiltily.

Huh…caught you there buddy!

“Can’t he just leave me alone for a minute?” Dean grumbled. “I know it is a novel concept, but he might try it from time to time.”

“He is worried about you.” Derek said quietly, looking at his hands clasped on the wooden countertop. “It is never a good idea to keep secrets from your family.” Why did it feel like Derek was speaking from experience. Dean followed his line of sight. They were good-looking hands…with long, pale fingers, blunt and not tapered at the end, hands that usually belong to a person who builds stuff, one who is not prone to day-dreaming, one who is too much of a realist and knows his own limitation…one who is kind and sensitive and down-to-earth beneath a callous surface…

And there went his sanity, when he started trying to analyse Derek fucking Hale by the way his hands are shaped.

Also there were other thoughts involving those hands, and somebody’s bare skin, preferably his own. He wouldn’t touch that thought with a ten feet pole, except for he had!

Beacon Hills was truly fucking up with his mind.

“I am not leaving.” Dean said, ignoring the last remark. “You might as well keep me company.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Dean glowered at him. “I am not asking you to tuck my drunk ass in bed. Just to…well…some company might be nice.”

Derek’s face, if possible, became even more judgey.

“Screw you.” Dean decided to ignore him and took a sip from his Jack Daniels.

“At your place or mine?”

Dean choked on his drink as most of it came out of his nose.

“Dude!” He started once he got his cough under control and the entire time the jackass was hiding a smirk behind his beer bottle, instead of slapping him on the back like a decent person.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, Dean.” Derek said in a bored monotone. “All the time I wanted to rip your face, a crazy hunter just like the one that burnt my family to death, I had actually been wanting to jump your bones.”

“You are an asshole.”

“You have said that. Twice now.” His lips twitched again, the smug bastard, “Freudian slip?”

Dean face-palmed. He regretted all his life choices which made him end up here at Beacon Hills.

“Will you go away if I pretend I cannot hear or see you?” He said from behind his hand.

“No, but you can pretend to forget my existence.”

“That is a bit difficult.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t need to be so smug about it.” Dean griped. “You are like…” he waved a hand in Derek’s general direction. “It is impossible to overlook your existence.”

Derek smiled and it was such a sweet and bashful expression that Dean was blinded for a moment.

“God you should totally smile more!” Dean clapped his hand over his mouth.

Holy shit, his brain must have gone off-line for a moment there.

“You didn’t hear me.” Dean panicked. “Forget I said that.”

“You are hurting my feelings.” Derek said innocently. “I thought you were propositioning.”

“Not in a million years.”

“Your heartbeats seem to be disagreeing with you.”

“Oh my God!”

“I know it is hard.” Derek finally reached out and patted him on the back and Dean spluttered expletives. “Life, I mean.”

“Sure you do.” Dean wished the ground to divide so that he could sink down into the underworld again.

“Come on.” Derek urged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Would you stop with the terrible puns?” Dean muttered.

Derek looked like he was fighting a smile again. What was with the werewolf against showing happiness. Dean was not at all kidding about his smile. Even a small one from him was a beautiful thing to behold. How would he look if he laughed, all the time? That was something worth thinking about, other than the bleak scenario or slowly going out of his mind or to have Belial lay claim on his soul.

Dean sat up straight and squinted at Derek.

“I can see what you are doing.” He said.

“What?” Derek frowned, but his expression was shifty.

“You are trying to distract me.”

Derek was quiet for a change.

“Well?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“You…you smell like your head is in a bad place.” Derek shrugged and looked away, taking a swig of the beer. “I have some experience with that.”

Dean thought there would be some rejoinder to that, but none came.

“I just want to be left alone.” He said quietly.

“No, you don’t.” Derek shook his head resolutely. “You are just too scared what you would do to the people you love.” He paused. “And you tend to lash out at them.”        

“Is it a hunter-wolf bonding time?” Dean resorted to sarcasm for he couldn’t go for the alternative, which would be to lay his soul bare to this man, barely older than a kid, sitting beside him, almost touching his side.

Not an acceptable alternative in any universe because…well, just because. Dean was not drunk enough, still, to explore the reasons.

“I don’t remember signing up for a class.”  He snarked meanly.

“What if you do?” Derek looked him in the eye. “Allison was an ally. Chris is a friend. Sammy is, well, he is certainly a friend. Why would you be any different?”

“You want to do the friendship routine now?” Dean asked incredulously. “The next moment we would be tying up friendship bands and call each other bros.”

“Don’t act like a brat.” Derek leveled an unimpressed glare at him. “We are way past that phase.”

They really were, but the problem was Dean realized with a sudden clarity he wanted so much more than that.

How far gone he was before he even realized that!

So he took another route, be the brat, because that was a safer ground.

“Don’t patronize me.” He said glumly. “I am more than a decade older than you.”

“And you have the emotional age of a twelve-year old.” Derek retorted. “What of it?”

That, was something nobody had dared to tell him in his face, ever. He had always acted as a brat and got away with it, with a wink or a crooked smile or a devastating look, and people always made allowance for he was always suave and smooth. But there was something about the wolf sitting next to him staring at him with intense green eyes that made him flustered, that made him feel younger in ways he had never experienced before. He was never young, even when he was a teenager, for he never had the chance to grow up. One moment he was taking care of his little brother, the next there was a deadly weapon in his hands and he was hunting down monsters. There was indeed no childhood for him. So he was entitled to be a brat, ok. Now he was too close to his death to change his ways.

“I am sorry.” Suddenly Derek blurted out, looking away finally. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Dean had a feeling Derek Hale didn’t apologize easily. He didn’t know what chemo-signals the wolf was reading from him to suddenly go down that path, but it must have been bad.

“Just to disprove your point I should be the more mature one and tell you that it doesn’t matter.” He tried to be disapproving and missed by a mile because of the goofy smile that was trying break free from his lips.

“But you are not and so…” Derek gave him another of his signature smirks, a little softer this time.

Dean shouldn’t find it so endearing but, screw it all, he did, so very much.

“I would tell you to shove it.”

“And ladies and gentleman we are back again.” Derek slow-clapped, the abominable jerk.

“Fuck.You.”

“We are sort of going round in circles.”

“Why don’t you take your bag of bullshit somewhere else and try to charm somebody else’s pants off?”

“Did you just realise you admitted to…”

“Don’t you dare to finish the sentence.” Dean warned. “Jesus, what is in the water of this town that the kids grow up to be like…this!”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him.

“I am not a kid.”

“To me, you are.”

“I hope denial works for you.”

“Den…oh my God. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to. You are doing it already on my behalf.”

“…”

Derek raised his eyebrows at him slowly and he actually face-planted on the counter. No need for chemo-signals, his body was giving away all the hints loud and clear. God must have created this werewolf to embarrass him to his death.

“Please go away.” He mumbled under his breath.

“I am not leaving without you.” Derek sounded dogged. “Chris told me and I quote ‘don’t come back without the piece of shit’ and Sam specifically told me he would use that blackmail material on me that nobody knows of if I let you alone tonight.”

“Why you?” Dean whined.

“Scott and Stiles wanted to come, but I didn’t let them. I don’t trust you enough to let them around you when you are not quite yourself.”

The easy confession made Dean sit up and peer into the wolf’s eyes once more. It was completely unrepentant.

“Well, that is fair, I guess.” Dean shrugged. “But you trust yourself around me?” He couldn’t help asking.

“You are welcome to do your worst.” Derek answered calmly.

“You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation.”

“No. It is just that it is nothing anybody hadn’t tried before.” He said. “I am used to it.”

Dean paused and glanced over at the serious expression on the werewolf’s face. What was with that and when did it become ok to expect people to do the worst and be so resigned about it. That is not acceptable! Monty’s words rang into Dean’s ears how rumour had it that Derek Hale was the evil incarnate and how she implied he might have killed his own family. Dean remembered Kate’s slimy smile directed at Derek and felt sick.

“I am sorry for shooting you.” He suddenly blurted out.

“It is ok.”

“Derek, whatever it was, it was _not_ ok.”

“It is ok. I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You are a hunter. You are supposed to kill the monsters plaguing the humanity. I am a monster. You shot me. End of story.”

Dean was so shocked he was suddenly not drunk any more.

“That is not...that is....” he took a deep breath. “First of all, you are not a monster.”

“I have killed people.”

“You must have had your reasons.” Dean said. “You are a protector and you are the exact opposite of a monster. You are a hero.”

“I am...” Derek trailed off. “What did you just call me?”

“I called you a hero, dude.” Dean smiled. “From what I have heard so far you have saved too many lives including my clueless little brother.”

“I...I...”

“Your family would be proud of you.” Dean said softly. “Wherever they are.”

Derek stared at Dean for full one minute. Then he looked away abruptly.

“Thanks.” He said tightly. “I guess.”

Dean bumped his shoulder and felt inordinately happy as a small smile appeared at the corner of Derek’s lips.

“Exactly how drunk are you on a scale of one to ten?” He asked.

“I don’t like you.” Dean complained.

“I know.” Derek said consolingly. “It’s time for you to go home now before you get to the sentimental stage and start crying into my shoulder.”

Dean opened his mouth and then nodded. The younger man might have a point. He was already feeling sort of happy and loose-limbed which was such a foreign sensation nowadays that it caught him totally off-guard. He had already ran his mouth more than he intended to and it was evident Derek would not leave him to his own devices until he is safe and secure inside his home.

Speaking of home….he mentally grimaced.

“Can I crash at your place today?” Dean asked Derek. “I am not quite equipped to handle Sammy’s disappointed face right now.”

“Ok.” Derek said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Then he stood up and waited until Dean was steady on his feet.

“I am calling dibs on the sofa.”

“Ok.”

“So that you don’t get any ideas.”

“Ok.”

“You are an asshole.”

“Ok.”

“Absolutely the worst.”

Derek laughed and put one arm around Dean as he staggered down the crowded bar and stepped out into the warm night.

“I don’t want to leave my baby here.” Dean fished the key out of his pocket and pressed the fob. “I guess neither do you.”

It was a testimony to the fact how far their relationship had evolved that Derek didn’t even need any clarification that he was talking about his car.

“I walked here.” Derek said, slipping into the driver’s seat of the Impala. “You getting in or what?”

Dean grumbled, but handed over the car key without further comment. He settled down into the passenger seat as Derek eased the car out of the parking lot gracefully. Dean was out within two minutes.  Later he would vaguely remember stumbling into the elevator as Derek held onto him by the scruff of his jacket. He would remember padding up to the leather sofa he had come to fall in love with and fall face down on it and then somebody covering him with a soft blanket.

…

Dean woke up a third time at Derek’s loft and it was disturbing how it was not even a little bit disturbing at all. He stood up, stretched and padded into the bathroom still half asleep. He splashed cold water until he could not feel his face and stared into his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale and lifeless. His hair needed a trimming a long time ago. He hoped he was not stinking. Would Derek let him borrow a t-shirt? They were of the same size. He didn’t want to go back to his apartment yet. He was so tired of the concerned looks from Sam and Castiel. They thought they were being subtle about it, but they were not and it kind of grated on his nerves.

Derek on the other hand refused to treat him with kid gloves, yet somehow made him feel taken care of. He didn’t know how Derek managed it, but being with Derek was easy. He didn’t need to stand on ceremonies or be worried about overstaying his welcome. He could count on Derek to throw him out the minute he got bored of Dean almost as much as he had begun to count on him to have his back in a battle.

Derek handed him a glass of orange juice wordlessly as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Morning butterscotch.” He greeted the werewolf cheerily and finished the juice in two gulps.

Derek choked on the coffee he was drinking and glared at him. Served him right.

“Cupcake? Fudgy pudge? Lovemuffin?”

Derek’s stare was getting incredulous to homicidal in degrees.

“Pooh bear???” Dean grimaced.

“This cannot be happening!” Derek stalked off towards the kitchen with Dean following him.

“Come on. Pooh bear is cute. You look like a Pooh bear. Anybody can see that.”

“Dean,” Derek looked over his shoulder. “If you try to call me that, I would rip your throat out.” After a pause he added, considering, “with my teeth, which are very sharp by the way.”

“You wouldn’t.” Dean declared following the werewolf into the kitchen. “How am I going to devour the pancakes you are going to make me without a throat?”

Derek flipped him off, but he did take out the pancake mix from the cupboard.

“I want mine with chocolate chips.” He ordered.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Remind me why I brought you home yesterday.”

He was seriously not a morning person. His hair was plastered at one side and there were pillow-lines on one side of his face that were disappearing fast though. Still he looked more adorable than a stuffed teddy bear. And don’t even let Dean start with the soft-looking Henley and black sweatpants.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you love my face?”

“Maybe.” Derek grumbled.

 Dean stopped in his track and stared. Even from a couple of feet away Dean could distinctly see the green, gold, grey swirls in Derek’s eyes, but the werewolf was not looking at him. He was busy emptying a carton of milk into a mixing bowl.

 _What are you thinking?_ Dean thought. _Can you hear in my heartbeat how gone I am on you? When did it happen? Why was I not looking? Why does it have to be you? Why are you playing with my heart so?_

Derek took out a chocolate bar from the refrigerator, grated it and added to the pancake batter.

“I don’t have chocolate chips.” He explained, frowning at the mixture moodily. “But I guess this will taste the same.”

A warmth was bubbling in Dean’s chest, threatening to burst out of him and drowning him with sheer joy. Was this what it felt like to be truly alive?

“Oh they better do.” Dean laughed at the grumpy wolf. “Or you can threaten to rip them out with your teeth.”

Derek flicked his wrist to send a blob of batter flying and landing on Dean’s face.

“Oh you are on.” Dean wiped his face with his shirtsleeves. “Be prepared to be assaulted when you least expect it.”

Another one landed on his hair.

Dean didn’t think before acting. He just took one of the eggs lying innocuously on the kitchen counter and threw at Derek’s head. The egg broke against the back of Derek’s head before sliding down. He turned towards Dean slowly.

“You didn’t just do that!”

Dean snatched up two more eggs from the carton and darted on the opposite side of the counter.

“What are you going to do about it grump-puss?” He challenged.

Derek didn’t bother to walk around the counter; he simply leapt over it. Dean was not sure when was the last time he actually squealed because that was the sound he made for Derek’s eyes were flashing neon blue and dangerous. He had the mixing bowl in his hands. Dean threw both eggs at Derek in quick succession, backing up quickly. They splattered against his shoulder and chest respectively without slowing him down at all as Derek stalked towards him.

“I surrender.” He put up his hands in air. “No, no…bad doggie.”

Derek dumped the entire content of the bowl on his head.

“That was FOOD you gigantic moron!” Dean screeched, wiping his eyes.

“So were the eggs.” Derek turned his back towards him and stripped off the wet Henley giving Dean a nice view of his beautiful tattoo. Such a show-off! “And you are going to clean up the mess.”

Dean leapt on Derek’s back and both of them collapsed on the floor. Before Derek could get his bearing back Dean’s fingers were digging into his ribs from behind.

“Stop it Dean.” Derek pretty much screamed under him.

Well, well, well! Big bad werewolves were not immune to tickling after all and Dean had mastered the art a long time back. Instead of letting him up Dean attacked Derek mercilessly, straddling his waist. Derek was warm and laughing under him. He was actually laughing!

“Let go.” Derek warned breathlessly. “Let me up or you are gonna regret it.”

“Dean?”

Both of them froze.

“Derek???”

Dean looked, really looked at the position they were in. Derek was on the floor, shirtless and pinned down with Dean who was draped all over him, both sticky with eggs and pancake batter.

He scrambled back quickly putting some distance between them and looked up at the two familiar faces staring down at them with varying degrees of incredulity.

Derek stood up fluidly and turned to face Scott and Stiles. He would have made a ridiculous picture, not to mention he was stinking of raw eggs, but somehow he still pulled off being ridiculously hot instead of plain ridiculous, especially the way his biceps bulged as he crossed his arms and stared the two kids down.

“What are you doing here?”

“What were _you two_ doing _there_?” Stiles asked pointing towards the floor. “Have you two regressed? Was it a spell?”

Derek glared at Dean who put his hands in air.

“Don’t look at me. Just the innocent victim here.”

Derek snorted rudely and tossed him a kitchen towel.

“What brought you two here?” He asked when both Scott and Stiles continued studying them with uncharacteristic silence. “I thought I said to use the loft key only in emergencies.”

“I called you more than ten times.” Scott said indignantly. “Besides it is an emergency.”

“What is it?”

“What do you know about mermaids?”

“Not much. Except for they don’t easily come out of their realm which is somewhere in the Northern Pacific as far as I know.” Derek said and looked at Dean.

“Never heard of them.”

“Well then ask around and gather as much info as you can. ASAP.”

“Where is the fire?” Dean asked.

“They have got Lydia.” Stiles spoke up, his eyes darting between Dean and Derek.

Dean groaned. “Isn’t there a moment’s respite in this blasted town?”

“Should have given some thought to its name before galloping in here.” Stiles muttered.

Dean couldn’t agree more.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers,
> 
> I wanted to share with you my excitement over the fact that finally, I got my original fantasy novel published. I am so sorry that it took me so long. Please visit my   [website](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)  
> for more information. It will mean the world to me if you show me the same love and support as you did with my fanfics :)
> 
> I am really, really desperate for a few reviews (all constructive criticisms are welcome) under my belt. It is an uncharted territory for me (to publish my original works, that is) and unfortunately, I don't have many friends I can count upon who care about my writing (that is to say, none of them do). All I have is you, the wonderful, amazing readers of my fanfics who inspired me to write and publish my original works in the first place. So, I would really appreciate if you check it out.
> 
>  
> 
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)

Derek didn’t even bother to explain as he slipped into his room and came out in his wolf form. He had a small bag strapped on his back, something he kept ready and packed just for situations like this, containing the bare essentials like pants and a mobile phone. He had trotted out of the loft as Stiles and Scott were in the process of explaining how they had discovered Lydia was kidnapped. She had not gone without putting up a fight if the rearranged furniture in her room was anything to go by. She had also left them a clue: a silver chain which definitely didn’t belong to Lydia because it smelt like ocean and magic _and_ it was looped through a scale, the size of a palm. Scott had wasted no time to take it to Deaton who had immediately recognised object as a talisman belonging to the merfolks. According to him, it helped them remain in their human forms.

“What?”

Stiles rolled his eyes exaggeratedly as Dean gaped after Derek, still not quite accustomed to the sight of the magnificent creature.

“What is he doing?” Dean asked dumbly.

“Trying to track Lydia,” Stiles elaborated. “It is easier to track somebody in his wolf form since his senses are sharper. It is just beneath him to use his words for that will bring him down to our level.”

Then, they had parted ways, Dean deciding to drive around in his car just in case and Stiles headed to the station to report Lydia missing so that Parrish could officially look into her disappearance. Also, it would mean more hands on board as the entire police force of Beacon Hills would also join them into combing through the town and the preserve for something suspicious.

Stiles never made it home.

It was just before the sundown that Derek called to let him know he had found their temporary den. Dean didn’t know why Derek would call him. Scott should have been the first choice, but then Dean remembered, Derek never treated Scott as his alpha. He was more of a big brother to the young wolf and if anything Derek was way too protective of Scott, Stiles or all the other members of the pack and of their parents too. For a person who was not the alpha, Derek shouldered too much responsibility willingly.

Anyway, Derek called and was predictably furious to learn about Stiles’ disappearance.

“Don’t do anything until we reach there,” Dean warned.

“Just get here, Winchester,” Derek had growled and since when Dean started to find that incredibly sexy?

Hmm, Dean had issues and clearly, his issues had issues!

It turned out the merfolks were still camping in the part of Preserve that was just outside the Beacon Hills County and hence outside the official Hale territory. Dean had expected scales and shark-like tooth and instead was confronted with model-level beauties roughly eighteen to twenty years old, clad in stylish clothing that was straight out of a teenage fashion magazine. If Derek had not been able to track Lydia’s scent up to the camping ground and confirmed Stiles was held there recently before being whisked away, probably by a large van, given the tire tracks on loose earth, they would have pegged the teenagers as ordinary campers.

As per Sam’s speed-research, merfolks were dangerous but not particularly prone to murder and mayhem and that was the only reason Scott and others agreed to the plan. Their only mistake was not giving Derek a heads up. They were silent as they observed the bunch form a distance (thank God the merfolks didn’t possess great olfactory senses) Derek had no clue about their little plan.

When Dean left the cover of trees and crawled towards the camp, as stealthily as possible, he didn’t need to be a werewolf to feel the confusion and questions pouring out of Derek behind him who tried to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder from Scott stopping him in his track. Derek had fallen back wordlessly, trusting Scott. Not in his wildest dream did he probably think the plan was for Dean to get caught deliberately, which he did with so much suitably panicked screams that had Derek charging at the camp, throwing caution to the winds, Scott’s hands trying to grab him be damned.

The merfolks were stronger than the average human and they had easily pinned Dean on the ground and Derek, well, he fought tooth and nail before being rendered unconscious and thrown into the trunk of a car, bound and gagged for all his trouble. Dean admired the view for all of ten seconds, the way the wolf moved – all lethal grace and sinuous beauty, eyes burning neon blue against the evening gloom, roaring at the enemies each of whom wielded honest-to-God pitchforks coated with some concoction that made Derek weaker and weaker as they sliced open his flesh and danced out of his reach. Derek was almost out of it as he reached out blindly for Dean before the latter’s world darkened around him with a blow to the back of his head. It should have melted his heart if Dean had a heart to begin with, but since he didn’t so this particular detail is irrelevant.

What was relevant was that Dean and Derek were officially out of the count. His only hope was Sam who was still at Argent’s, researching the hell of the elusive merfolks as to why they would risk antagonizing a powerful werewolf pack out of the blue.

…

When Dean woke up in a tiny enclosed place resembling a prison cell made of stone right beside Derek who was already awake and trying his damndest to free himself from the crude-looking ropes, he was not even surprised. It was disturbing how familiar it was, to find himself in a situation where he and Derek landed up together, fighting for their lives or in this case probably waiting for their death.

There had been disturbing talks about their life forces and stuff when he had regained consciousness once or twice, but the purpose of the sweet-smelling piece of cloth tied around his mouth was not only to gag him. It had obviously been steeped in the same concoction that their weapons were coated with. Dean had felt his eyelids droop against his will. He hadn’t tried anything during these times because, a) his hands and feet were tied with ropes which must have some binding spells because he couldn’t break free and b) the reason behind all these was that he was taken to the place Lydia and hopefully Stiles too were held captive.

Dean absolutely hated it when they try to suck that out of him, his life-force that is. If he had not been gagged, he might have tried to argue how he had been technically dead at least once and so, he didn’t have much, to begin with. Also, he liked his life-force _inside_ him, thank you very much. But would the bad guys listen?

Dean shook his head exasperatedly.

“I would tell you to conserve your strength for the upcoming torture and villainous monologue,” he drawled, examining his surroundings. “But I know that would be a waste of breath.”

Derek huffed, but surprisingly, he stopped fighting the restraints which were a great development since Dean was sure he was two minutes away from wrenching his hands clear off his shoulders.

 “Do you think they have–”

The metal door of their cell opened and three men walked in. Well, they were more like teenagers than men, but Dean knew as far as the supernatural creatures were concerned, appearance was deceiving. They were dressed casually in fashionable clothing and the pitchforks seemed completely incongruous with their angelically innocent faces and Chuck Taylor converse. One of them opened his mouth to speak but then his eyes widened.

“Oh my God, tell Queen Sheia we have the wrong couple.”

One of the two other mermen blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I am called Prius, the seer, not because I win at ‘I spy’ every damn time, Ramon!” he snapped. “They have got…these two are the ones. I am sure of it.”

“But these two were…”

“Do as I say.” The merman’s eyes flashed bright green and the other two visibly shrank.

“Sure, Prius.” And with that, he left.

The merman, Prius, turned his attention to Derek and Dean who were eyeing him cautiously.

“Well, by Atlantis, you are beautiful,” he mused.

“Excuse me?” Derek took a threatening step forward.

Dean sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up the ceiling.

Youth, he despaired!

Obviously, this Prius guy had even less self-preservation instinct than Stiles Stilinski that he actually met Derek’s angry eyes and said, every word clear and precise, “You are beautiful.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, probably contemplating which of his bones to break first once he got free.

“You two glow from it and it is so breathtaking that I can hardly look away.” Prius’ eyes turned sad. “I am so sorry.”

“What the fuck?” It was Dean’s turn to exclaim.

....

Dean guessed the ocean was nearby, probably just beyond the stone walls of the cave from the sound of waves breaking against rocks. This cave, unlike where they were kept, was spacious and there were beautiful carving along with the stalagmite columns. The sunlight streamed through a hole in the vaulted roof, making the rocks gleam in multi-coloured hues. There were puddles of water on the rocky and uneven floor, still and greenish, probably the remnant of a stream that ran from this cave towards the open ocean.

However, what was of immediate importance was Stiles and Lydia, tied around one of the limestone columns and the woman perched imperiously on a rock, observing them coolly. She made it look like a throne.

“Leather pants? Really?” Dean drawled. “What kind of mermaid are you?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “The kind that can kill your friends with the snap of a finger.”

“I would like to see you try,” Dean bluffed. He knew they were surrounded and outnumbered. There were at least twenty merfolks armed with pitchforks lurking around in the cave.

The woman’s eyes lit up a fiery orange, but before she could open her mouth, the merman, Prius who had escorted them to the cave, spoke up.

“Queen Sheia,” he said.

“I heard.” She waved her hand dismissively. “We got the wrong people. Those two are not even a couple. At least not yet.”

“I am sorry, my queen,” Prius said. “They do have the aura, but it’s faint.”

“I see,” the woman chuckled. “These other two it is then. Good. They look like they will be fun.”

“You are so wrong, lady,” Stiles exclaimed. “Those two are so far from fun that it is not even funny.”

“Hey.” Dean protested.

“They are not what you think they are.” Stiles tried again. “They actually hate each other’s guts. You can try to torture one of them in front of the other and they might actually enjoy it. It’s quite sad really.”

It was Derek, who caught the edge of near-desperation in Stiles’ tone. He met Dean’s eyes and subtly shook his head.

“I don’t think so.” The woman tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Prius is not usually wrong about these things.”

“Well, this time he is.”

“Do you know what he is talking about?” Derek whispered to Dean.

“My guess is as good as yours,” Dean whispered back. Then, because the blissful ignorance is too much for him, obviously, he had to open his damn mouth and clear his throat.

Everybody’s head swiveled towards them. “I think it is about time you have us enlightened because last I checked we were not...a couple,” he grimaced.

“Well, this is just pathetic,” the queen said.

“What?” Derek’s patience seemed to be running even thinner than him.

“You really don’t know?” She arched an eyebrow, not in the least intimidated. “Well, then I guess Prius may go ahead and explain. It’s only fair since you are not walking out of this cave alive.”

Stiles gave out an undignified squawk while Lydia breathed in and out slowly, clearly ready for battle already.

The merman, Prius sighed and turned towards Dean and Derek. “We were looking for soul-mates. Our mages had been scouring the earth to find one for nearly a decade. Only recently they sensed a pair in the town of Beacon Hills,” he said. “We watched your pack closely for the last few weeks because the aura was concentrated around your pack and your pack was kind of nurturing it, in turn, protecting it, without your conscious knowledge, in all probability. We noticed how the red-head and the human boy over there spend most of the time together. I was summoned by her majesty and when I looked into their aura, I could see there are mutual love and respect for each other that goes beyond the bond of friendship.”

“So you decided to kidnap us,” Lydia snapped. “Why would you even want to find soul-mates in the first place?”

“I have a distinct feeling it’s not because they wanted to exchange dating tips and cry over ‘The Notebook,’” Stiles murmured.

Prius looked at his queen uncomfortably who looked back at him and nodded. “It’s for our queen whom we all serve,” he said. “Our queen is our leader and our protector, but after every hundred years or so, she starts aging."

“Without getting into details, let’s just say it’s not pretty and I am not ready to die of old age yet,” queen Sheia interrupted, her chin lifted like she dared them to say anything disrespectful.

Dean had, indeed, a list of interesting things to say to that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. She was beautiful and showed no sign of aging at all. She had platinum blond hair that cascaded down her back and baby blue eyes. But there was steel beneath her smile. Dean recognized it because he had seen it reflected in the mirror. This is one woman who would kill them all without feeling the least bit of remorse if the need arose.

“All that is very…informative,” Dean said slowly. “But I still don’t get it.”

“Well the bond between the soul-mates is unique. The love they feel for each other is so powerful, it can fuel a small sun for a few seconds. And if one is tortured and killed in front of the other, the emotions of the one who is made to watch is enough to provide me with enough life-force that will last me another century, if not a couple,” the queen smiled. Her sharp, completely inhuman teeth gleamed in the scant light. “For example, if I do this–”

Dean would admire her skill if he was not busy gasping because there was a shard of glass she had thrown and he hadn’t even seen her move, but Derek obviously had, the fool, as a direct result of which it was embedded into Derek’s shoulder and not his body.

Derek calmly took out the shard from his shoulder without even flinching.

“I would have shielded him even if he were a stranger,” he addressed to the mermaid queen. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Look behind you,” she chuckled at the werewolf.

Dean knew, rationally, it was foolish and that Derek had already healed. He had seen Derek hurt before. Hell, he had shot Derek himself, nearly killing him in the process, but now it all seemed immaterial as he took in the blood on Derek’s shirt, the already-healing wound.

“Dean…” Derek frowned at him. Uncertain.

Had it always been like this? Dean wondered. Had it been like this from the beginning that he couldn’t even contemplate Derek getting hurt. If he said it wasn’t, would he be completely honest with himself? Didn’t his entire being revolt when he saw Derek, really _saw_ him, pale and nearly lifeless on Chris’ table? Didn’t his soul cry out in distress from the knowledge that he had hurt this beautiful creature and that it was a huge mistake?

“Dean…come back…I’m OK….”

His vision was taking on an unnatural hue and Dean felt like floating away from his body once again. It was as if he…no, he wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let his inner demon run free because once he let go, he wouldn’t be able to turn back human. Not when the likes of Belial standing too close and probably watching with an unholy glee as he fell.

“Don’t.”

Dean felt the hands cupping his face and make it his anchor to reality. He focused on the voice, low and frantic. It was a voice he could listen to for all eternity and still not get bored. The touch could linger on his skin, branding him, owning him and he wouldn’t mind at all.

Fuck!

He opened his eyes and looked into the pair of impossibly-coloured irises that looked at him like he was worried about him. Like he was something treasured. That it was, in fact, a matter of life and death that Dean didn’t lose himself to the darkness forever.

“You see it now?” The queen is definitely smirking now, but Dean cannot even tear his eyes away from Derek who had somehow tore free of the ropes and his hands were bleeding from where it had cut through the flesh. Dean touched his bloodied wrist and Derek winced. The stupid werewolf had probably broken the damn thing trying to get free. “The two of you are going to give me what I need.”

Derek dropped his hands like burned and whipped his head to glare at her.

“That’s it? You plan to murder all of us in cold blood? You are not even scared of the consequence?”

“We are cold-blooded creatures, Derek Hale,” the queen smiled cruelly. “And we may decide to spare your friends if you co-operate or we may not. And about consequences, we will be long gone before your pack can find us. We have the entire Pacific ocean at our disposal.”

By the time the mermaid’s little rant had finished Derek could just stare at her. What she was implying was impossible? Then, he remembered. He knew it was a bad idea right from the moment it started. He was half disgusted with himself for he thought he had better self-control. Well, he evidently didn’t. Have that much self-control, that is. At least, when it came to gorgeous, bright-eyed creatures that killed his kind who tended to flirt with him. Therefore, he had, without his conscious decision, somehow started to flirt right back!

“Dude, you don’t need to look quite so constipated,” Dean grumbled from his side. “I will have you know, I am considered quite a catch.”

Right! Add ‘annoying little shit’ to gorgeous and bright-eyed.

“I can’t…I don’t…” Derek didn’t usually stutter (make it never), but people should cut him some slack. This is insane even by his standard.

“It is not possible.” He finished lamely.

Lydia was looking at him across the room with murder in her eyes. Derek really couldn’t blame her. Being kidnapped from her own bed in the middle of the night by people who were basically half fish did not exactly call for breaking into a song and dance.

“Take them back to their cell and prepare for the ritual,” the queen ordered.

The two mermen standing silently behind them bowed low and poked them with pitchforks, herding them, eliciting a growl from Derek. It was an empty threat and Derek knew it. Even if they ignored the looming presence of the other merfolks effectively surrounding them, there were Stiles and Lydia, human and fragile and completely at the mercy of the heartless queen.

Dean still had a trick up his sleeves and he didn’t know why Prius hadn’t called him on it yet. Either he was not a very good seer or he was purposefully playing at being ignorant.

Dean didn’t know what to think of it.

…

“Ok, so do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked.

“Right now?” Derek arched a brow and Dean wanted to punch him. Repeatedly.

“No. Right after we are tortured to death,” Dean hissed. “Yes. Now.”

Derek was silent.

“Derek, don’t you think – ”

“I don’t believe in mates.”

Dean thumped his head against the wall. “That is not what I am talking about, dumbass.”

“Then what _are_ you talking about? ”

“About this thing we are tiptoeing around,” Dean whispered back furiously. “I don’t quite believe in soul-mates either. But I want to know where _we_ stand.”

“We stand nowhere,” Derek sounded equally furious. “The only thing I know is that people I care about end up hurt or dead or they leave me one way or the other. I don’t believe in curses either, but sometimes I think that is what I am. Cursed. Because I killed the first person I gave my heart to. With my bare hands.”

Dean was stunned to speechlessness.

“Now you see what kind of a monster I am?” Derek sneered. “Remember it the next time you hit on me.”

“That is not fair Derek and you know it,” Dean accused. “You cannot deny you are not interested.”

“I sure didn’t start it.”

“But you played along. Because of what? It tickled your ego that you have a Winchester falling for you? Or was I just an easy distraction.”

“That is not fair either,” Derek said tightly.

Both fell silent after that.

“You fell for me?” Derek’s voice was soft, hesitant. In the brief span of time that Dean had known him, he had never seen Derek feel hesitant or nervous about anything.

“Are you blind” Dean sighed. “Actually, no. Don’t answer that. Are you blind and deaf and have your nose plugged when you are around me? You are supposed to be a wolf. Sam said you are supposed to be able to smell my emotions.”

“If only it was that easy,” Derek sighed too. “Did you really…”

“God, yes. You didn’t make it easy. But I did.”

“And do you still…”

“Yes.” Dean said in a clipped tone.

Derek was silent once again. If Dean had expected an open declaration of how Derek too had felt it, he would have sorely disappointed. But he knew better than that. He knew Derek was young and beautiful and can have anybody he wanted and that he was not plagued by actual, literal demons and that he had a future, though he probably didn’t believe it now. Dean can see Derek – picking up the pieces of his life, for there is time yet for him. He can see Derek falling in love, smiling in the quiet, indulgent way of his, he can see him learning to be happy again and to get married, have kids, have a house complete with a white picket fence.

“I am tired of getting hurt,” Derek suddenly said. “I picked myself up each time, after Paige, after Kate, after Jennifer, even Braeden, for I did love her so, and each time it is just…I am so…I am just…”

“Scared?” Dean asked, softly.

Derek was silent again for a full minute before nodding. “Yeah. Scared. I guess.”

“Scott said,” Dean started carefully. “Scott said you had been kidnapped at a disturbing frequency by hunters and have been impaled by pretty much every substance on earth. Surely you cannot be scared of getting hurt.”

“I was once impaled by a steel rod through my middle,” Derek said conversationally. “She held it while I was on my hands and knees, bleeding on the floor of my loft, and then she would twist it time to time.”

“Christ.” Dean closed his eyes.

“It was only half an hour, but it seemed like an eternity for my body kept on trying to heal and was torn again as she twisted the rod. Still, the pain, while unbearable, was something I could get through. What I almost _broke_ me though was the alpha who caressed my face and told me how I looked exactly like my mother. I wanted to die right there. I would have if they didn’t have my little sister pinned down on the floor next to me.”

“Derek...”

“I know people lose their families and I am not an exception and I really am not looking for pity,” Derek continued. “But I must live with the knowledge that all my choices led to this. This was no accident. That there shouldn’t be a werewolf telling me I reminded him of my mother, I should have my mother sink her claws into the bastard before she could lay a hand on my sister. I couldn’t even defend her. So, don’t think it is my self-pity speaking, it is cold, hard truth that I couldn’t defend my pack and I am not good for anybody.”

“And you are going to punish yourself for that for how long?”

“As long as I live,” came the instant reply.

“What if I ask you to share your pain if you cannot let it go?”

“I can’t possibly inflict myself on you,” Derek shook his head. “You are good and you always do the right thing. Even when you are possessed by darkness you don’t let it get you. I will just drag you down.”

“Man, we are such a pair.” Dean chuckled ruefully. “Competing all the time who is more fucked up than the other.”

“We don’t make it easy on one another,” Derek snorted.

“Because we both are such stubborn assholes.”

“True”

They fell silent and it was not uncomfortable, like when they bickered. Dean didn’t know what it said about the nature of their…whatevership…but there was this sense of rightness in his guts. Like having Derek by his side, nearly touching, feeling the heat of his body and knowing for certain that soul-mate or not, Derek would die for him if needed, no matter how much in denial he was and that Dean would do the same for Derek – it was how it meant to be.

He closed his eyes with the knowledge and prayed, hoping it was not too late already.


	27. Chapter 27

In the end, it was all a bit anti-climatic.

Don’t get him wrong, Derek _hated_ to be tortured. Funny, one would think he should be used to it by now. Well, he wasn’t. Having your fingers broken one by one and have them healed before starting all over again or the torture with the good old red-hot iron rod were no fun – contrary to what people think. Queen Sheia overlooked the ritual as Prius chanted right outside the circle he had drawn around the stone slab he was shackled on – holding a bowl-like object made of blue glass – and it glowed once in a while, especially when Dean was yanking at his own restraint.

The queen got bored soon.

“Well, call me when you are ripping his intestines out of his body, keeping his alive and conscious all the while of course,” she had said while examining her nails and had left them to it.

To consider what had become of his life that Derek didn’t even think she was remotely joking. And to have Dean watch him, yelling his name and cursing the mermaid queen and her forefathers to hell and back – it was all really dramatic (as if Derek needed more drama in his life) – except for Derek was fucking terrified this time.

Because even through the haze of pain he found Dean’s presence fortifying and the fact that he was crying real teas for Derek, begging and pleading a grim-faced Prius to stop it and to torture him instead. Derek looked and looked and he opened his mouth to say it was OK. But another scream tore out of his throat instead, no matter how much he gritted his teeth and tried to swallow it down. He wanted to tell Dean that he was so fucking thankful to have met him, to have him here by his side, like the promise of a warm day in the middle of winter. That Derek felt soothed just by staring at him. There was somehow a sense and security and purpose.

Derek had always had a protective streak. He tried to protect Paige from illness and suffering, protect Laura from his tail-spinning grief, protect Scott from being hounded down, protect Stiles from getting killed, protect Jennifer from the wreck that he was, protect Cora from himself, protect Braeden from his baggage, protect innocent people he never even knew from the supernatural shitstorm. He never tried to protect himself for it never occurred to him that he should. But Dean evoked this odd feeling in him like he was somehow important in the grand scheme of things. There was somehow the desire to save something from this madness, something of himself.

It was scary and exhilarating at the same time because he wanted to live through it. As if he had any right to want that for himself – a sliver of hope – that maybe it hadn’t all gone up in the smoke. That this unbearable loneliness had an expiry date and Derek got to have somebody on his side to call him his own. This entirely new feeling that the ownership went both ways and Derek got to be _somebody’s_. Belong somewhere. Just belong.

So, even as his back arched up towards the ceiling as they worked on his abused body, even as he howled in agony and roared in futile rage, he was waiting for a miracle for the first time in his life. And he was not at all thinking about the rescue party which arrived with a suitable fanfare with Chris Argent leading the bunch from the front with Scott and Sam on his either side.

The battle was brief but brutal because the merfolks did have magic on their side, but Chris had brought fire-power enough to level a small town. It appeared Dean’s gamble paid off as he relied on Sam to be able to locate him through the small object he was carrying – the silver scale they had found in Lydia’s bedroom. Even though the mermaid’s lair was warded off from scrying or even Castiel’s angel-vision, the quick and simple locator spell cast on the talisman by Sam proved effective because it belonged to the merfolks in the first place and therefore their own wards didn’t work against it.

What was really weird though was Prius’ reaction as soon as they heard the distinctive sound of explosions and gunfire and finally, a battle-roar which nearly had the roof of the cave collapse inward.

“Oh, thank Poseidon,” he sagged, throwing the ceremonial bowl away. Then, before anybody could realize what was going on he cut the head off of the merman who was torturing Derek in one smooth motion with a wicked-looking blade that Derek was sure would take two humans to lift. Next, he was cutting Dean free who immediately pounced upon him and pinned him against the wall.

“D-Dean…” Derek groaned weakly as he felt his phalanges healing slowly back.

Dean’s eyes snapped back to him and he looked apologetic.

“Oh my God, Derek…oh my God…I’m so sorry...I got you…why don’t this motherfucking thing come off…”

“Stand aside,” Prius instructed lifting his blade overhead. “I don’t want to accidentally nick you.”

“Why should we trust you after everything?” Dean growled, trying to block Derek with his body.

Prius rolled his eyes so hard that Derek was reminded of Cora. “I don’t have time for his,” he said and brought down the sword which had Dean ducking under but his blade came down on the chains with a loud clang and to both their surprise, it went through the metal like butter.

Derek leapt up as soon as Dean tore the remaining shackles off him and bunched Prius’ fancy shirt in a fist.

“If you are tricking us…”

Prius huffed. “I am not tricking you, wolf. Our queen had always been a bit heartless, but of late it’s like she doesn’t have a single shred of morality left in her. She has reigned for five centuries and we are all tired by now of her bloody ways.”

“Do you at all care about that?” Derek growled.

“We are all sworn to serve her and so, it was not like I could say ‘no’ to her. But there are some lines you don’t cross.” He squinted hard at Derek. “Have you never had an alpha you dearly wanted to kill but still couldn’t bring yourself to because you were taught to be loyal to your own kind?”

Derek’s fist loosened in shock. Some of it must have registered on his face too because Prius patted his arm. It should have felt patronizing but the look in the merman’s dark grey eyes was knowing and kind. “You remember that, right? Sometimes it’s not easy to make that choice.”

“Well, not that this mutual soul-searching is very entertaining,” Dean drawled, “but I guess we should get a move on and help out the boys.”

The banshee scream tore through the cave reverberating endlessly, sending both Derek and Prius dropping to their knees with hands clapped over their bleeding ears. Dean helped Derek to his feet and together they followed the sound with Prius close at their heels. If he stabbed him in the back now Derek would be really surprised, because he could have easily killed him when he was bound and helpless and weak from the torture. So, he could probably be given the benefit of doubt.

“Lydia will kill you for being sexist,” Derek said as they took the scene unfolding in front of him.

Dean’s jaw dropped and he didn’t even add a clever comeback to that because he was too busy gaping. Derek didn’t blame him. Lydia, Kira and Malia looked like warrior princesses – lethal and gorgeous – with their back to each other, forming a tight little unit. Kira and Malia armed with deadly katana and claws respectively while Lydia was using Chinese daggers which she wielded expertly as if Allison from the other world was whispering encouragements to her ears. The merfolks had claws and the shark-like tooth Derek had imagined before which had come out finally and of course their poisoned knives and pitchforks. Thankfully, they were not immune to bullets, but unfortunately, they were lightning fast, nearly matching the speed of a werewolf and they healed too nearly as fast. Sam was shooting at them trying to dislodge the deadly weapons from their hands while Chris was going hand to hand with a guy they remembered to argue with Prius in their cave prison a while ago.

One portion of the roof had indeed collapsed from the primal roar Scott had let loose or from Lydia’s banshee scream. They could clearly see the entrance of the cave now where a couple of merman guards were lying in the pool of their own blood, unconscious or dead Derek didn’t know, neither did he care, since they were the ones who had chosen to attack them in their territory. And it was not acceptable.

Derek and Dean wasted no time to join the fray with Derek backing up Stiles who was wielding his bat in a way that would make a Major League baseball player proud and Dean sliding next to Sam who wordlessly tossed him his trusty crossbow.

Scott was standing in front of queen Sheia who looked afraid. It was written in every line of her face as she suddenly dropped to her knees and begged.

“You have won,” she whispered to Scott, blue eyes wide with fear. “Please don’t hurt me. We surrender.”

Derek could see it Scott’s eyes even from the distance, the compassion that made him what he was – the true alpha – but he knew at the same time how misplaced the compassion is.

“Scott,” he said cautiously. He was not the alpha, it was not his decision.

Scott’s wolf sunk underneath his human face – painfully young and gentle, oh so gentle, and he reached out to the queen hesitantly.

“Scott.” Derek’s voice is more forceful this time and he found himself running towards the foolish boy before he got hurt.

“I am so sorry, young alpha,” she was saying in sugar-sweet voice, complete with a trembling lower lip, the very picture of a damsel in distress. The, she lowered her head, a gesture which completely threw Scott as was evident from his baffled expression.

“What is that stupid boy doing?” Lydia shouted and Derek vaulted over the poke-marked floor of the cave and landing smoothly on all fours on the rock the queen perched on.

“Scott, no…”

But it was too late as Scott had touched her arm already, to reassure, to tell her it was OK and that he would not hurt her – and he was thrown back like he had touched a live wire. Immediately, the queen was onto him, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him from the ground a good couple of inches.

“Did you really think it was that easy?” she smirked and proceeded to crush his windpipe.

Derek shifted, bursting out of his clothes, without a second thought and pounced on her back. Pain jolted through his system like the ten-thousand volt current the hunters used on him, but he was ready for it. He bit her on the juncture of her head and shoulder and didn’t let go, even as he tasted his own blood in his mouth mingling with hers. She released Scott with an otherworldly screech which nearly rivalled Lydia’s banshee scream which had Scott drop limply on the ground, hands jammed over his ears. Derek could feel his eardrums burst and suddenly, he couldn’t hear anything except for a strange whooshing sound. He felt his body trembling, muscles protesting against the abuse, but he didn’t let his jaws go slack. The queen toppled over and tumbled down the rocky steps, taking Derek with her and she dug her claws into his flesh. But Derek was beyond caring. He knew she would not stop, even if they win this one somehow. And that they would always have to look over the shoulder for her because she was right – the entire Pacific Ocean was at her disposal – and what if she brought her full force down on their little pack? What if she targeted Dean next for the drawn-out torture session?

Derek knew he was probably a losing battle the way his muscles spasmed and he felt moments away from passing out, but finally, the pain stopped abruptly and the queen went limp. Derek shook his head as a wave of power hit him, backing away from her prone body. It cascaded into him, drowning all his senses and it was not painful. It was the exact opposite of painful because his body was healing more rapidly than it ever did, faster than even when he was an alpha. He felt himself shifting back without meaning to.

“Derek…oh my God…”

“What’s happening to him?”

“Why is he glowing...”

Bits and pieces of voices reached his ears but he was too overwhelmed to concentrate. He blinked and the haziness of his vision passed and it was sharper than ever. He immediately zoned on Scott who was on his hands and knees with the impression of a hand wrapped around his throat that was rapidly disappearing. He was looking at him with wide, cautious eyes.

“Derek...dude, are you OK?”

“Why wouldn’t I be OK?” he asked absently, examining his limbs which seemed to be intact and in working condition.

His head was still pounding though and he felt something poking at the back of his head, a deep awareness of the ocean nearby, and he suddenly longed for it – for the open ocean and warm waves and dark caverns underneath and coral reefs and rainbow-coloured fish and people, if they can be called people, long tails glistening in light filtering through water…water…he needs wat–

Dean was shaking him by his arms. Derek blinked at him.

“What?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but please put on some pants,” he grimaced. “And come back to us mortals while you are at it.”

“What?” Derek asked again but Dean had already turned away, leaving him with Prius who handed him a pair of jeans and a shirt which he had conjured up from somewhere, probably thin air.

“What’s going on?” he asked warily putting on the clothes in a record time (he had a lot of practice by now).

“You are our new king,” Prius said smugly. “That’s what is going on.”

Derek felt the blood draining from his face. Not this again.

“I don’t…how…that’s impossible.”

Prius pointed towards the still form of queen Sheia now. “ _That_ should have been impossible because our leaders are protected by ancient and powerful magic. Even your alpha was no match for her. You somehow tore through her meaning the sacred powers had had enough of her transgressions. It’s the will of Poseidon that made you able to kill her.”

“And how does that make me your king?” Derek nearly shrieked, his heart beating out of his chest in panic.

“Calm down,” Prius said. “It’s an honour, really. To be chosen by the sea gods. They must see the marks of a leader in you.”

“I am a terrible leader,” Derek felt like scrubbing his face off. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

Seriously, could his life become even weirder?

“I have some idea,” Prius smiled. “Seer, remember. But you are wrong.”

Derek looked around frantically for someone to call on the bullshit. Someone to tell this crazy man that whatever aided him to rip out the queen’s throat it was not the damn sea gods choosing him for the leader of a whole bunch of people. Malia and Kira were still locked in a battle with a couple of soldiers still while Stiles was checking over Lydia for injuries. Sam was trying unsuccessfully to dislodge a mermaid from…

Derek’s eyes widened.

“Nononono…” The cry seemed to be ripped out from his very soul as he threw the woman hunching over Chris and still chomping on his throat aside like a ragdoll. Sam took care of her as she was about to leap on Derek next.

“No…please.” Derek fell to his knees beside the hunter. He pressed a hand on his throat which was torn open by the sharp teeth of the mermaid.

Chris’ pale blue eyes were wild, but then they latched on to Derek. He lifted one trembling hand from the floor and touched his face. Blood smeared on Derek’s skin, but he couldn’t care less. He put his other hand over Chris’, closing his eyes against the onslaught of grief. Scott and Dean rushed forward to drop down beside Chris. Scott took Chris’ other hand and started to leech away his pain. Chris spared him a weak smile before focusing his entire attention on Derek again.

Suddenly, Derek could feel it, the flickering life beneath his hands, like the beating wings of a moth. He can even see it in his mind’s eye all gold and shimmery and velvet. Derek reached out with both hands and trapped it between his palms, caging it in effectively, though leaving space between his fingers so as not to crush the delicate thing. The moth fluttered in the confines of his fingers, warm and restless. Derek started walking towards the bright light he could see ahead. Surely if there was light, there would be safety. He could release the moth into the open, where he would survive, away from this darkness and the damp squalor that smelt like death.

“I am sorry, son.” Derek’s eyes snapped open at Chris’ words. He frowned. Chris was not even slurring. Yes is voice was faint and still laced with pain, but the fact that he was able to talk at all with half his throat torn off was a miracle. “That was a heck of a car. I guess I was just jealous.”

“No.” Derek shook his head, getting the reference immediately. “I did ask you to check the oil.”

Scott and Dean exchanged worried glances, completely clueless. Moreover, Chris shouldn’t have been so lucid, given the extent of his injury.

“Trying to apologize here.”

Dean had a distinct feeling it was not only for the car (whatever that meant) but for something much more important altogether.

“You don’t need to,” Derek said, still shaking his head. “You were just looking out for the others. You meant well.”

“I ought to. Apologize that is. For I am about to do something horrible to you again.”

Derek just stared at him, eyes burning.

“I need you to let me go.”

“Chris, I don’t think you should talk,” Scott said gently. “You shouldn’t even be talking in this condition. I don’t know how –”

“Dear Lord in Atlantis,” Prius swore. “It is because he has formed the bond.”

“What?” Dean growled at him.

“I think…your wolf has formed the bond with the human. He is trying to give up his grace or his mojo or whatever you call it in human terms, which is so limiting by the way,” he shook his head, exasperated. “Anyways the crux of the matter is your wolf is trying to draw him back from the land of eternity.”

“Land of eternity?” Scott asked, clearly puzzled.

“You guys call it death. We call it eternity,” Prius rolled his eyes again at the ignorance of the landfolk.

“But how?” It was Dean this time who was trying hard to ignore how Prius had addressed Derek as ‘your wolf’ two times. He felt it was not an accidental slip.

“We, merfolks have the ability to form a temporary bond, with people we care for, under a great duress. We can lend them our strength; even take some of the pain away. Like you are doing right now. Although in your case you are physically leeching away the pain. In our case, it’s all in the mind.”

“So Derek has formed a…bond and he is trying to save uncle Chris?” Dean tried to wrap his head around it. “That is good then. Isn’t it?”

“Except for the human is too weak to survive and he would take the wolf with him. If he doesn’t break the bond right about ten seconds ago.”

Chris was listening to the conversation with a pained expression. He had suspected Derek was doing something like that. He had no explanation for it, but he felt a tug at his very core, like something…somebody was holding him back, calling his name desperately.

Now he gathered his strength and growled at the stubborn wolf by his side. “Derek, dammit, do it. Right now.”

“No.”

“Please Derek.”

“No. I can’t. Not again. You can’t ask me to do that. I cannot lose another one. I can’t. I can’t…” Derek nearly choked off.

He was done with it. With losing people he cared for. It kept on piling upon him and he was not sure if he could take it anymore.

Dean suddenly shifted and he came around to kneel down behind Derek. He put both his hands on Derek’s shoulders wordlessly.

“I can feel them,” Chris pleaded. “They are calling me Derek. I have nothing to live for.”

“You have me,” Derek countered angrily. “I know I am not a good enough reason, but then you have Scott. You have the pack.”

“God, Derek,” Chris sighed softly. “When will you understand, you are not only good enough, but you are actually too good. Too good to be true. Too good to hold a grudge against a vengeful old man who did nothing but torment you when you were at your lowest. Who couldn’t protect you when he had the power to do so. Who couldn’t see the boy he was labelling as a monster is a hundred times better man than him.”

“No, no I am not.” Derek was sobbing by now, not even aware of the tears glistening on his cheeks. “I am nothing but a black hole. Things I touch turn to dust.”

“Don’t ever say that.” Chris’ voice was stern. “You were the one that gave me hope. Not Scott, not Isaac, though I love them so much. But _you_ gave me reasons to go on when you covered me with your body the time that bomb went off at the station. I knew you would have died in my stead. So I went on even after Allison for if you could go on after what my sister did to you, I had no excuse to call it a day. You inspired me to live. For others. For that was what you did. But God it was such a struggle.”

Chris panted in exertion.

Derek was silently shaking his head again. He was not a good person. Chris had it all wrong. He saved Chris because it was his instinct to save, to protect – something his alpha, his mother, his family ingrained in him. It was nothing that he did out of the goodness of his heart. Besides, he was a fucking werewolf and he knew he would be able to heal, but the human wouldn’t. He didn’t know why Chris thought it to be such a big deal, especially, when he tried to kill the man a few days after.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head Derek,” Chris smirked weakly. “I don’t know how to make you believe in your goodness. I guess we have the job cut out for somebody else.”

His eyes flickered behind Derek as he took in Dean.

“So let me go, Derek.” He whispered. “Please…son.”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut.

“Derek,” Dean said tentatively. “Let him go, man. He is hurting.”

That seemed to get Derek’s attention. He looked back wildly and his eyes locked with Dean’s. Derek didn’t know what he was looking for. An assurance? A confirmation? He really couldn’t tell, but Dean apparently did for he simply nodded grimly.

“Do it, Derek,” he said gruffly. “Respect his wish if you respect him.”

Another tear rolled down Derek’s eye as he looked at Dean pleadingly. Derek wanted him to take his words back for it was cruel. Why did he have to make this choice? Why _he_ of all people?

“You can do it grump-puss.” Dean whispered, his hands on Derek’s shoulders heavy and re-assuring.

Derek nodded.

So, he was doing it. Again. Mercy-killing seemed to be his thing now.

He looked back at Chris. He was white as a sheet and the skin around and he smelt hurt. He smelt broken.

Derek let the moth go and as it soared upward into the darkness, his heart lurched and he could hear it break.

All over again.

_Will it ever stop?_

The last thing he was aware of was the relieved look in Chris’ eyes immediately before it glazed over and became lifeless.

And he was back in hell again, the hell where his family was burning before his very eyes and he could do nothing for he was not even there. What kind of a son he was that he couldn’t even feel his parents burning to their death.

“Dad,” he whispered, touching Chris’ cold face with shaking fingers. “Please don’t leave me.”


	28. Chapter 28

Dean was worried.

Derek was completely pliant as he guided the werewolf with a gentle hand on the small of his back out of the lair of the merfolks which turned out to be a tiny cove near Point Mugu. Thankfully, the place was secluded enough that the only living beings who were alarmed by the sound of explosions and gunfire were an indignant squabble of seagulls. Sam was already waiting outside, bless him, with Derek’s ugly car. Dean herded Derek into the front passenger seat and even buckled him in. Dean didn’t even _do_ gentle. He didn’t know what prompted him because Scott and Stiles were there too. However, they were hanging back to talk to Prius and the few merfolks who survived the blitz attack. They were discussing the ramification of their action and why they should give Derek some time to adjust before he decided anything. Prius was saying how it wouldn’t matter Derek was a shape-shifter and not a merman because they didn’t actually live underwater even though they prefer to spend a lot of time in it. That they were amphibian creatures and so on and so forth and a lot of other bullshit.

Well, if you asked Dean, there was nothing to decide. His first impression of fish people hadn’t been all that great. Well, Prius might be alright but it didn’t take a lot for him to change camp and that in Dean’s view was slippery as hell. Anyway, he didn’t want Derek anywhere near an aquarium in the next few decades or as long as he lived, let alone the Pacific Ocean, was all he was saying.

Which…wait!

Dean straightened up abruptly because he was arranging and re-arranging Derek’s hands on his laps while the wolf stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes. He met Sam’s worried glance over the car roof. He didn’t even need his brother to point it out how it was unusual behaviour, even for Derek.

“I will just…” Sam trailed off with a complicated hand gesture which might mean he wanted Dean to dive off a cliff or take Derek home and tuck him in or something in that vein. Finally, he just gave up and tossed Derek’s car keys to Dean.

He watched his brother with a bemused expression until Scott startled him by clapping him on the shoulders from behind and handing him over what no doubt was the key to Derek’s loft wordlessly. Stiles was standing a step behing watching Dean intently. He was suddenly nervous the way their eyes bore into him. It felt like a test. Or more accurately like they had handed him something precious and fragile and trusted him not to break it.

The entire four-hour drive was silent and Dean had to glance over to know Derek was indeed there, sitting in the passenger seat. Breathing. Because he was so eerily quiet. And still. Like he had turned into a statue. Dean had never thought he would be so relieved to see the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign.

Dean parked in front of Derek’s apartment and went through the same motions as when guiding Derek out of the cave, in reverse. He fumbled with the key and dropped it twice attempting to open the metal door.

“You didn’t see it,” he brandished the key warningly in front of Derek’s nose who stared in front just as placidly.

“Shit…fuck,” Dean tried to stop the shaking in his hands and guide the werewolf into his own home.

“Lie down and sleep,” he ordered Derek after shoving him down to make him sit on the bed. “You will feel better. I promise.”

Dean felt hungry but he presumed food can wait. His entire body was hurting and he yawned and collapsed on the sofa which had such a familiar feel that he went under within moments. When he woke up it was dark outside and Derek was still sitting on the edge of the bed in exactly the same posture as before, his eyes staring straight ahead. Dean was not sure he was blinking.

He sighed and scrubbed his face. He had slept for more than a six hours and Derek hadn’t even moved. Now contrary to what he himself would like to believe, Dean Winchester appeared to possess a heart. Apparently. Shocking information, but true! He didn’t even presume to know what Derek was going through right at that moment but he would be damned if he let Derek become catatonic for over a quarter of a day.

So, he made pancakes.

They were utterly pathetic and he knew it. Unlike Derek’s perfect, fluffy roundlets, his were shaped more like maps of Australia or some other continents that probably didn’t even exist on earth. They were burnt on one side and underdone on the other and they smelt sort of eggy. But Dean would have you know they were perfectly edible. If you ignore the eggy bit. Or you pretend them to be more like a runny omelette.

He took the food to Derek and chatted constantly.

“The last time I fed somebody was my own little brother and so, you should count yourself lucky,” he said sectioning the pancake with a fork. “Come on man, open your mouth. You need some sugar in you after what they did to you. God, I was ready to puke just watching them and they weren’t even torturing me. Though I was probably the next candidate. It was actually a novelty. To be the second in line. Because people usually see me and think ‘torture.’ What is with that?”

Derek didn’t respond to any of it and he was still staring vacantly.

Dean set the plate aside.

“Derek,” he hesitantly reached out and then cupped his face with both hands. “You are starting to scare me, dude. And that’s not a mean feat.”

He tried to chuckle but it sounded brittle.

He didn’t know what else to do. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He knew fighting demons and killing supernatural beings. He knew how to face off with a Crossroad Demon or the Lord of Hell or Lucifer even. He knew how to hold a grudge like a champ and he knew hatred and anger. He knew how to take apart a gun, any gun, and assemble it back. He knew how an Angel of Lord looked like in his full glory.

He knew blood and gore.

But he didn’t know how to do this. How to put back the fragile pieces to form one whole. He could promise away his life and his sanity for somebody he lo-cared for in a heartbeat. He could do the gruff-voice assurance that he would always have someone’s back with an awkward pat on the back and a few choicest curst-words thrown in, and bloody mean it.

This.

Though.

He closed his eyes against the sensation of soft beard under his palm and a foreign yet uncannily familiar smell in his nose, that’s not his own, and it’s kind of intoxicating. He opened his eyes to peer into a pair of eyes…he wanted to drown in them and never rise up to the surface. It tugged at his heart so, the soft eyes and the soft hair and the face that he came to know and…and what? Love? Lust after? What was it? What did he feel after getting the confirmation from more than one person that the man he once thought his mortal enemy was his…soul-mate? Is that a word even? 

“Derek,” the name fell from his lips so naturally like his lips were formed around those words.

Heart hammering in his chest, Dean leaned until their foreheads touched. Derek’s warm breath is on his lips, leaving a tingling feeling and dear sweet Jesus in Heaven he should have known Winchesters didn’t do anything halfway.

“Please come back…” he whispered. “Please, I can’t see you like this…please, Derek.”

He poured everything in his voice, what he felt for the wolf and had been denying vehemently since the first time he had seen him. It seemed inevitable somehow that he came to die in this town and found his…salvation, because wasn’t that what Derek was? A beacon of light in the ever-present darkness of his life. It might sound cheesy but it was true. What was uncle Chris saying, something about how Derek gave him the strength to go on even after his daughter’s death? 

“I…I need you,” Dean admitted in the quiet hour of the evening what he couldn’t admit in broad daylight to the other man’s face. “I need to see you strong and proud. Like the wolf that you are.

“I know you are hurting,” he said, nosing over the younger man’s cheekbone, just shy of touching, “and I am so damn sorry that you have to go through all these, but I promise you it’s going to be OK.”

He pulled back and looked into Derek’s eyes. “You have to come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I just can’t. Please…Derek…I never beg to anybody. Dean Winchester don’t do begging, but I am begging you. Just come back…”

And Dean’s treacherous voice trembled and as he petted Derek’s face, shoved a lock of unruly hair from his forehead, smoothened his borrowed shirt over his shoulder, touched his sternum, lightly feeling the heartbeat going strong and steady. His hands were shaking again. He couldn’t do this. He was not meant to comfort and nurture. He was meant to fight and protect. He was definitely not the one Derek needed for Dean didn’t have the first clue…

Suddenly, Derek blinked. The stone statue came to life, little by little, and Dean was startled by the hand raised to his face, touching his cheek in wonder. Derek looked at him, for what seemed like eons.

“Chris?” Derek asked hoarsely, searching his face with a desperation that made Dean’s eyes sting and throat burn.

He shook his head and watched Derek’s face crumple.

Dean would never forget until the day he was dead and buried how it absolutely broke his heart the way one Derek Hale broke down and cried like a lost child, shoving his face into the crook of his neck while Dean supported his entire body weight. That Derek went numb and boneless like he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up, that after bearing the burden of the world for such a long time he was just so tired that he couldn’t bring himself to put up any front anymore. And somehow Dean knew it was not only for Chris, though he was probably the final nail in the coffin. Dean realized Derek had never cried properly before, had never let himself grieve.

Dean didn’t know where he got that instinct from because it had been so long that he had to console his little brother missing mom, but he wordlessly climbed into the bed with Derek and let the wretched, miserable boy hide his face into his lap and weep, clutching Dean like a lifeline thrown to him while he was plain drowning under the choppy waves.

Dean decided he could be this. Derek’s port in the storm. If _Derek_ wanted him to be. Dean felt by this point he would probably be anything Derek needed him to be. The realization was not as startling as it should have been. So, the next part came easy. He trusted his instinct to drape himself around Derek, making himself a shield to hide the hurt wolf from the world which had been so cruel to him. He didn’t remember the words afterwards, but only knew the tension slowly bled out from Derek’s body and that he became quiet, his breathes no longer coming in short gasps. There were only tears that flowed almost helplessly, drenching Dean’s shirt, but he didn’t mind them for he knew tears purged one’s soul.

Later, they would remember a quiet conversation that was mostly monosyllabic on Derek’s part (nothing new here!) lying face to face on Derek’s huge bed, head pillowed by their hands. They would remember moonlight seeping through the windows and drifting in and out of sleep, Derek waking up in the middle of the night with memories foreign to him and Dean’s pulse racing at the thought if the merman magic was trying to draw Derek to their homeland, away from Beacon Hills.

Away from him.

He remembered how he couldn’t bear the thought of Derek leaving. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.

And the dawn would come too soon because sleep didn’t come easy after that. They would get up, finally, and Derek would make breakfast like it was a solemn ritual and Dean moving around him in perfect sync. It felt like they had been doing this dance forever.

The morning would also bring the _pack_. And Sam. Because they were worried. And Derek’s face at the way Stiles flew into him and hugged him like hugging was going out of fashion should have been comical if Dean didn’t know the reason behind it.

His wolf was an idiot.

Dean would smile fondly at them and later when everybody was busy filling the loft with chatter and food, Derek would draw him close with warm hands and intense eyes and rest his forehead against his, imitating Dean’s action the previous day. Then, Derek would close his eyes and suck in a breath like he was savouring Dean’s scent like Dean inhaled Derek sometimes, greedily and unabashedly. After a few seconds he would release him, stepping away as quietly and Dean’s heart would be in danger of beating out of his body. Then Derek would be dutifully producing Lydia’s favourite soda or Stiles’s favourite candy from the fridge. Making them squeal.

Well, his wolf was also a fucking tease.

But Dean would be content with what he got because he was in love with the asshole. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

First, it was Scott.

Dean didn’t suspect a thing when the boy buttonholed him at the grocery store of all places. He had two boxes of cereals on both hands and he was contemplating if he should go with Boo Berry or Count Chocula (What? He liked sugary things, OK? He was a growing boy, a voice at the back of his head sounding suspiciously like his brother, screaming ‘ _more like a wizened old man_ ’, notwithstanding!)

“Dean,” Scott told him, face serious. “Are you seeing Derek?”

“Uh…”

“No? Then, I guess you want to date him?”

“That’s…” Dean tried, but Scott simply bulldozed over him.

“Is it because he is a good-looking guy because I have noticed how your scent spikes when he’s in the room. If that’s the case I’d advise you to stay away. He doesn't deserve that. The last person who lusted after him stuck around until he got attached and then she left to pursue her own goal. The one before that was a serial killer and I won't even go into the first one.”

"The two that raped him?" Dean blurted out and immediately clamped a hand over his mouth.

He had met (now thankfully dead) Kate and had seen the way the deranged woman looked at Derek. He had no intention to meet (also thankfully dead) Jennifer Blake who probably date-raped Derek. Though Stiles and Lydia had been vague, Dean had his suspicion about Jennifer which was confirmed after a couple of silences that greeted him when he questioned the wolf about her.

Scott looked over at him in shock.

“Jennifer didn’t…”

“Yes, she did,” Dean protested, even though his mind was telling him it was not his secret to tell. So, he clammed up again.

“Fuck.” Scott looked genuinely upset. “That night when…we all blamed him because he never called us to tell us he was alive and I nearly…” Scott gulped. “We all thought he was…he…he nearly died and we presumed Jennifer helped him heal…”

Dean held back a snort, letting Scott work it out.

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah…” Dean said awkwardly.

“Well, anyway,” Scott visibly pulled himself together. Dean had to admire the boy. He could see why he was the True Alpha. “In that case, what I told you…”

“Don't worry,” Dean interrupted him. “Stiles beat you to it.”

He paused. He had a suspicion which he wanted to confirm because he was clearly a sadomasochist. “Does he...are they…”

He trailed off, not sure he wanted to know the answer to the question. Because the truth would probably hurt. He had seen the way Stiles looked at Derek and had also experienced first-hand exactly how much protective Derek was over the gangly boy. They would make a really cute couple. The ones who constantly bicker among themselves to the endless amusement of their friends and then would also be nauseatingly sweet.

“With Derek and Stiles, one can never be sure,” Scott shrugged.

Dean sighed. At least, he was being truthful.

Then, it’s Kira.

She and the others had come over to their apartment to help them research about Dean’s Mark about which they were yet to make a headway. After the death of Uncle Chris, they were one crucial man short.

After the initial shock of his death had worn off, it was revealed he had bequeathed all his belongings in the name of Derek, Scott and one Isaac Lahey, the last one, he was told was in Europe. Derek had inherited his library and the apartment and the other two kids his not-inconsiderable amount of property. Dean and Sam got all his weapons collection. They didn’t even know he made a will, but the Argent family lawyer had contacted them individually to inform them about it.

Kira cornered him at the kitchen. He really needed to develop a radar for nosy, supernatural teenagers, for they were becoming a real pain in the ass.

“I kind of like you,” she started, then blushed. “Oh, I mean not  _like_  like you, but just, genuinely, like you. You are smart and funny and brave and you have a knack for saving people’s lives...oh God, it sounds like a romantic declaration, doesn’t it? I swear when I thought of the entire thing it sounded exactly right in my head. But the thing is, you see, about you and…D-I mean, you are free to like anyone you want to, of course, but…I have to say...that...that...”

Dean clapped a hand over her mouth for the sake of his sanity.

“Kira, darling.” He said gently. “Don’t break anything. I know. I got it. I will never.”

Kira looked at him gratefully.

The final straw was his own brother!

“Dean, are you sure about Derek?” he asks after the kids had taken leave one by one.

“God, not you too?”

“What do you mean by _you too_? Ok, never mind.” Sam scratched the back of his neck. “I mean I must go through the motions and say if you hurt him I’ll have to kill you etc.”

Dean gaped at his brother. 

“You are getting it all confused.” He raised a finger at him. “You are supposed to threaten Derek.”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? I mean I am your own flesh and blood.”

“Pretty sure.”

“But why?” Dean might be on the verge of tears.

Sam seemed to take pity on him.

“Derek doesn’t have anybody to warn you on his behalf.” He sighed. “Normally it would be Laura’s domain and since she is dead...” he trailed off.

“Seriously, Sam?” Dean burst out. “A werewolf?”

“She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen,” Sam protested hotly.

“And now you are, what, fulfilling her sisterly duty in her absence?”

“Kind of,” Sam mumbled, blushing furiously. “Derek needs to have somebody at his corner.”

Dean patted his too-good-to-be-true brother on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry. Derek has his corner quite well-covered.”

Therefore, he shouldn’t be really blamed when Derek decided to pay him a visit and randomly occupied the couch with the copy of a Patrick Ness (which belonged to Castiel because he is weird-ass angel who liked modern YA novels) while Dean was elbow-deep into a tome he hauled from Chris’ library and Sam mysteriously disappearing into the thin air, and he blurted out:

“Why is everyone under the impression that we’re seeing each other?”

Derek who had just become comfortable and was lying with his head on the armrest dropped the book on his face.

“No, seriously,” Dean said.

Silence.

“And what’re you doing here by the way?”

Another stretch of silence.

Dean…was not used to feel…this…whatever he felt whenever he was around Derek. Like he was nervous, which was ridiculous because Derek was the last person who would hurt him. He knew at least that much about the wolf. What then was he so afraid of?

Dean went up and poked the man on the arm. Derek removed the book and glared at him. The flutter in his stomach became a gale. Also, Derek must have been losing his mojo or something because Dean didn’t find it the least bit intimidating. In fact, it was, kinda adorable. Like a very grumpy cat who is so furry and cute that you just can’t possibly take it seriously and want to mash your face against it and pet it until the kingdom comes.

“What’re you doing here?” he repeated.

Derek looked away. “You haven’t been over at the loft last week.”

Dean waited for an explanation to come.

“So?” he finally asked when it was apparent there wouldn’t be one.

“HasitoccurredtoyouthatmaybeImissedyou.”

“Would you stop mumbling?” Dean said, exasperated. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

Derek glared at him again and sat up with a stretch of arms above his head.

“Do you have coffee? The good one, not the nasty one you keep to appease the ever-hungry horde of teens.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Dean warned, stalking off towards the kitchen to fish out the ‘good coffee’ from his secret cupboard, tucked away from supernatural noses.

Derek, predictably, followed him.

“I mean, first the baby alpha of the town then the baby giraffe who is actually a baby Japanese fox, but is in reality, a giraffe, and I challenge anybody to prove me wrong…and then my own motherfucking brother, wait, that’s a very wrong expression…oh my God, the image alone…damn, I need brain-bleach now…what the hell is wrong with me???” Dean grumbled under the breath as he prepared the coffee machine. Very angrily.

Because the nerves attacked him again as Derek stared at him steadily, leaning against the wall.

_Why the hell were his hands shaking?_

“And all these after we got nearly done in by fucking fishes…who are supposed to hunt for algae for fuck’s sake or drowned princes. And not human heads and werewolf heads! Whoever has ever heard of getting kidnapped my merpeople. The fucking thing is…it doesn’t sound natural! What would Disney say?”

Suddenly, there was a warm palm in the middle of his back. He stopped and turned around. Derek was standing impossibly close, so much so that he brushed against his chest while turning. Derek was still staring into his eyes, without blinking even. Dean tried to say something, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Derek pressed closer, crowding him up against the kitchen island and placed both hands on his sides.

Caged him in.

“Derek…”

Derek simply looked, his silver-green eyes tracing the contours of his face, his small mouth serious and lovely. And his smell…oh God, Dean couldn’t even deal with that!

Derek raised a hand and smoothed it down on one side of Dean’s head, in a very gentle caress.

“Can I…” Derek cleared his throat, his thumb swiping across Dean’s cheekbone, maddeningly sweet. “Can I kiss you?”

…

He watched them through the lurid clouds that parted for him. Perched atop the highest peak of a new-born star. Fire blazed around him, without touching his skin. His pale skin glowed and his silver mane whipped around his chiselled face.

The young merman was right.

They were so beautiful together!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more to go and the journey will end here. At least, for now. I have an idea of a sequel, but it's gonna be a long time because I'm too busy with my original projects. Please keep a lookout on my website as some really exciting books coming up, including one that I developed from one of my own fanfics. Also, a very dark love-story between a young, homophobic and closeted pop-star and an older journalist whom the former manages to seduce (Named: Plant Flowers On My Grave). There's a horror story also: There Is Nothing In The Woods.
> 
> Oh, and I'm thinking about publishing my poems too; would try to offer it at a discount on Amazon, maybe even 90% or just the printing cost. Because I want to be read and I don't think I'm in a position yet to be able to earn from writing independently just yet. Maybe in future (keeping fingers crossed).
> 
> Please feel free to drop a message, as always, to let me know what you think of this story so far. You can't begin to imagine how much I appreciate it.
> 
> https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/

“Can I...can I kiss you?”

Dean stared at him. Forever. Or so it seemed. And Derek was thrumming with a nervous energy. Nearly bursting from it.

Suddenly, his hands came to rest on Derek's hips and he was pressed close to a warm body. And a lifetime after (or so it seemed), he ached for it. This heart-breaking intimacy.

Now, Derek was basically a selfish person. He, unlike Scott, didn’t include the whole world in his prayer. He had his own little bubble and there were only certain people in it. And their families of course. Derek thought it would never stretch beyond that.

But, boy, he was wrong!

The kiss was over as soon as it started as Dean pulled away too soon, making Derek chase after him, like a complete moron.

“Derek, we...we need to talk first,”

_Fuck, no!_

He should’ve felt smug how wrecked Dean sounded with a mere brush of lips, but all he felt was dread. He didn’t want to define this just yet. Love had never been on the cards for him and he knew it. Maybe he was just built to be alone. He didn’t want to say it aloud and tempt fate. Derek Hale was not meant to have a love story. 

“Hey...hey...no...” Dean held onto him tighter as he felt Derek pulling away. “I’ve been told you have a habit of locking people out,” he whispered.

Derek’s mouth went dry.

 _Don’t,_ he wanted to plead.

“I’ve also been told you’ve been hurt a lot of times before,” Dean said, his face solemn and serious.

“Here.” He tapped Derek’s chest with his index finger. Feather-like, right where his heart was beating like humming-bird wings.

Oh God, so he knew how _damaged_ he was! How people he thought he was in love with had thrown him around like a broken toy. Pretending to love him or to have his back. Only to turn back to shake hands with the enemy or to betray him or to wish him dead or to actually try to kill him, or seduce him or...worse. Dean was sharp, no matter how flippant he appeared to be, and he must have put two and two together. And he knew now of Derek’s shame, his utter humiliating histories (in plural) and this was where he was gonna tell Derek, _thanks but no thanks_. Because who would be crazy enough?

“Hey...Derek...please, look at me,” Dean said softly, cupping his jaw and making him look up from the floor. “Please.”

Derek...he shivered a little at the softness of Dean’s touch and the earnestness in his eyes, now beautiful green in the afternoon light. And waited to accept his fate.

“I want you,” Dean said, slowly.

Another shiver.

“I’ve wanted you for...I don’t even know when it even began,” Dean chuckled. One corner of the mouth lifting up and Derek wanted to suckle it for...maybe a few hours. “Hell, maybe the moment I saw you. You’re a very beautiful man.”

“So are you,” Derek retorted, feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks.

What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t blushed since he was sixteen and Kate made him blush at the drop of a hat. She used to enjoy doing it, pinching his cheek, telling how cute he was every time he would turn crimson. Derek tried to push her out of her mind.

“That’s immaterial,” Dean shooed away his remark and splayed a palm over Derek’s heart.

“This,” Dean smiled brilliantly, looking at him all the while. “This I never intend to break. For even though your body has healed, this has not. And I won’t be another one who hurt you and take from you and never give back.”

Derek knew, intellectually, he had a tongue. And he could use it. At least, until a few seconds ago. But he truly couldn’t get a single word out.

Dean grimaced. “OK, grump-puss that was probably too cheesy.”

“No,” Derek finally managed to blurt out. “No, that was...nobody ever...nobody ever...since Paige, nobody said something like that to me. Nobody ever bothered.”

“And I’d raise them from death and cut them into little pieces while they are alive if I could. Those who didn’t bother, I mean,” Dean said.

His heartbeats never faltered. He really meant it. Derek is...he is beyond flabbergasted. He came to Dean, consciously or unconsciously, seeking some sort of solace, a temporary relief...he didn’t even know what. Because Derek knew himself. He was probably physically incapable of getting involved in a casual relationship. Or casual sex even. So, why was he holding back?

“So, what do you want to do?” Dean asked, caressing his face like he was the most precious thing in the world. “ _After_ the kiss,” he elaborated further.

Then he smiled, a devastating crook of lips that made Derek go weak in the knee.

“’Coz, if you are game, I’d have loved to take you on a date and wine and dine you at the fanciest places, you know, be the gentleman. Only, I don’t think my heart or my dick can take it.”

Derek snorted out a surprised laugh at that. Dean was still smiling. But somehow managed to look serious as well.

“And because I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to _not_ touch you once I begin, and I want to know if we’re in the same boat here.”

“I think...” Derek cleared his throat again. “I was under the impression that we’ve been dating for quite some time now.”

Dean nodded, eager and happy.

“So, maybe we can...take it to the next level.” Derek cringed inwardly at how much he didn’t have any game. Like absolutely zero.

They stared at each other for a few precious seconds before they rushed forward. Together. And practically collided. Then, Dean’s hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of his body while his tongue darted into Derek’s mouth, hot and possessive. And Derek returned the touches, as fervently, groping, mindlessly, the chiselled features, the curves and dips he had admired from afar the hollow of the collarbone, the dip of the waist, the short hair at the base of the skull...ah, this tingling at the base of spine, like molten lava spreading across his body.

The thrumming in his body increased to a crescendo.

It was teeth on teeth, tongue grazed on Adam’s apple that bobbled, and hands on hips and barely holding on to the sanity. Dean was trying to peel off Derek’s jacket and trying to take off his shirt at the same time, successful in doing neither. He ended up getting tangled and Derek laughed, breathless in a sudden and fierce joy. God, this felt good. To laugh like this.

“Get it off...get it off...too many clothes...why do you wear clothes again?” Dean was practically whining while impatiently tugging to undo the buckle of the thick leather belt Derek was wearing.

Derek...he felt so happy. Nearly giddy with it. And he suddenly realised it’s only Dean and he didn't need to put on a show. He didn't need to pretend. He could be himself with Dean. So, he stood still as a statue and as he let Dean take off his belt which finally came off and fell with a clutter on the floor.

Then, he raised a single amused eyebrow at the hunter.

“Would you rather I walk around butt naked all the time?”

“Yes, sourpuss, with those abs...that's exactly what you should do.” Dean huffed tugging the hem of Derek’s Henley.

“If you say so.” Derek smiled wickedly. “So you cannot blame me if your angel friend hrnmph -”

Dean sealed Derek’s lips with a burning kiss again, cutting him off midsentence. Derek would never admit even under torture that he actually swayed slightly on his feet as Dean’s warm, full lips attacked his own, bruising them almost. His hands came up to grip Dean’s hip to steady him as he leaned on him, to ground himself, and his own lips parted under the sweet assault. Immediately Dean took control of his mouth like he was dominating it from time immemorial. His tongue darted into Derek’s mouth, staking claims, roughly, wantonly, as his hand dug into Derek’s hair, keeping his head in place, angling it slightly for the better access. His other hand crept under the waistband of his jeans, warm and possessive and intimate. Derek’s breathing hitched just like that and for the life of his he couldn’t open his eyes even if he wanted to for his eyelids were heavy, his knees were turning to jelly and he...he would be grateful to have a wall behind his back to hold himself upright for he really couldn’t keep standing anymore. He was drowning in waves after waves of sensations - the playful tongue inside him, the sinful tug at his hair, the fingers digging into his buttock...

Then Dean pulled away just as quickly as he started and he grinned at Derek’s slack-jawed expression.

“No smart come-backs eh? Did I finally break you?”

Derek didn’t even have it in him to form a coherent word. He just pawed at Dean’s button down and when he couldn’t open a single button, with a snarl of frustration he simply ripped it to shreds.

“That was my favourite shirt you asshole!” Dean was scandalised, but Derek was too busy stripping him and didn’t even bother to answer.

The jeans joined the shirt on the floor and then the boxer brief. Derek picked Dean easily and carried him to the bed.

Dean laughed, squeezing his butt, making Derek nearly drop him in surprise.

“I always knew you're secretly a caveman.”

Derek deposited the hunter on the bed and climbed after him.

“Why are you still not naked?” Dean frowned.

Derek pulled off his shirt over his head in one swift motion and unbuttoned his jeans while staring intently into Dean’s eyes all the time.

Dean held his stare, hypnotized, all snarky comments dying on his lips at the sight in front of him. Derek rid of his jeans and shorts in one obscene motion that should have belonged to a high-class porn video. Dean licked his lips feeling Derek’s hungry gaze latching onto his mouth.

“I want to look at you,” Dean said simply. “Will you let me?”

“I'll let you do whatever you want with me,” Derek said hoarsely, his eyes dark and all kinds of predatory. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

It was clearly a rhetorical question for the clear evidence was in front of Dean as Derek lay down, unashamed and pliant, exposed to Dean’s burning stare. He gulped, feeling his heart going at a double speed. Dean was not scared, but on the other hand, he probably was if for nothing other than how this was affecting him almost at the molecular level. He had sex before, numerous times, he had casual hook-ups, a couple of affairs that were more serious than the other, he knew what pining for somebody was like...but he had never in his life felt this tight constriction of the chest, the willingness to completely surrender. 

Dean touched Derek with a reverence that bordered on awe.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, as his hands brushed on the vast expanse of the soft, flawless skin.

“So beautiful.” He couldn’t stop, not even realizing he was speaking at all. Dean’s hands slipped lower, between the legs, finally gripping the rock-hard cock and giving it a gentle tug.

Derek let out a soft whimper.

He was fucking gorgeous, the ebbing and dipping of tan muscles, the mussed up raven hair, the jawline cut from stone, the eerily pretty kaleidoscope of eyes...the preternatural loveliness of it all, the restrained power that was held back just beneath the surface so that each touch is a gentle caress, each brush of hands or with lips is a whispered prayer...still, it felt so raw with pure, unadulterated lust, the primal of all emotions...that Dean almost choked on it.

He could not believe the incredible creature writhing under his touches was actually his, that he had his express permission to do whatever he wanted with him.

Derek’s breathing hitched as Dean’s strokes became bolder, more urgent and his eyes were screwed shut.

“Open your eyes Derek,” Dean commanded gently. “I want to see you please.”

And the multi-hued eyes fluttered open. There was a burst of an unnamed emotion in those eyes and such adoration in the soft parting of the lush lips that Dean leaned forward to kiss him again and again and again...on the lips, on the jawline, on the collarbone, on the hollow of the throat. God, he wanted to do this for such a long time. Dean let his teeth grazing on the exposed skin, on the cleft of the chin, on the nipples, the dip of the naval, the solid pecs and lower and lower...

Derek whimpered again as Dean took him in his mouth and his hands which were digging into Dean’s buttocks fell down on the bed, useless and limp. Sweat pooled into the dip of his collarbones, on the slope of his brow and he gathered the bedsheet with a white-knuckled grip. Dean held him through the violent tremors that shook Derek’s powerful frame. He bit down on his lip, fangs and all, drawing blood and Dean just lapped him up to the last drop, holding his gaze, holding him, between his heated hands as a sob broke through Derek’s throat.

“Shhhh...” Dean soothed the wolf, immediately surging forward and kissing at the edge of his lips. “Shhh...I know...I know...I got you...I got you...” mindless words Dean was not sure he actually uttered, but as Derek’s eyes flew open to look upon at him like he was nothing sort of his salvation, like he was the treasure that Derek was looking for his entire life, a surge of such strong affection for his wolf choked Dean that he was left panting and breathless.

HIS wolf.

 

“Claim me.” The words fall from Dean’s lips before he could stop himself. He wanted to be claimed by his wolf. He wanted to own and be owned in return, holding nothing back. He wanted for the first time in his life to let go of all the carefully built walls around his heart and his being for his beautiful, gorgeous wolf is worth it. He was worth all the past heartbreaks and the wait and he was worth everything.

Derek’s gaze immediately sharpened at Dean’s words.

“Dean,” he raised his body, propped on the elbows and searched into his face, uncertainly.

Dean grabbed Derek’s neck and brought his ear close to his mouth.

“You are mine and I am yours. So mark me,” he whispered into Derek’s ears. “Claim me as yours.”

Derek shivered from head to toe and before Dean knew it, he was flipped on his back with a werewolf with electric blue eyes hovering over him. Derek leaned and caught Dean’s bottom lip in a possessive kiss. Then ne nuzzled him under the jawline, along the collarbone and as Dean’s body arched upward, Derek’s hand slipped under his shoulder, hoisting him up and his fangs came down on his pulse point in a shallow bite so unbearably sweet that Dean gasped, half in pleasure and half in pain, all lines between the two feelings blurred, leaving the hunter utterly dazed.

“Mine.” Derek ascertained, voice rough in want.

Dean nodded dumbly, throat too perched to form words.

“It is my turn now.” Derek smiled and it held such dark promises that Dean had goosebumps on his skin.

"Fuck me," Dean's head thumped back to bed.

Derek stilled above him. "If you say so."

Dean laughed, breathless and nervous and opens his eyes to see Derek staring at him. For permission. Dean couldn't help surging up and kissing him again. 

"Only if you want," he said against the shell of his ear.

Derek looked at him incredulously and nodded, starting to smile again.

And the bastard took his own sweet time with him. His eyes sweeping over Dean’s lean body, hooded with lust and appreciation, making Dean flush under the intense stare. Derek followed it with his lips and with his tongue and boy, he had a wicked, wicked tongue! Cries and moans were wrung out of the hardened hunter and when Derek had produced a bottle of lube apparently out of thin air (or his side-table and Dean would be embarrassed that the wolf knew about it all the time later; now he had different priorities) and manhandled Dean onto his stomach and started probing him open. Slowly and gently. Until he was all but mewling and begging.

Derek pulled Dean up with one hand until his back was flush against his chest and adjusted their position.

But before he could do anything else, he went rigid in Derek’s arm. Derek was not so far gone that he couldn’t feel the sudden tension in Dean’s shoulders and the very next moment Dean started to thrash, like a madman.

“Noooo...” Dean cried out, suddenly kicking and screaming as Derek tried to hold him down, to calm him.

Derek called his name against his ear, repeatedly, pinning down his hands by his sides so that he didn’t injure himself, but to no avail. His heartbeat accelerated alarmingly and he was screaming bloody murder. Derek didn’t let go of Dean, but turn him around and cradled him to his chest, crushing the hunter against him, while running his hands on his back in a soothing motion trying to shush him with a gentle murmur of words.

“Dean...It's OK...you are safe...you're with me...you're safe...you're OK...”

It was minutes, probably, but it felt like hours. That Dean finally stopped struggling. There were another few minutes before Derek could feel his heartbeat coming down to the normal level.

"Dean?" he asked, softly.

Dean nodded weakly and Derek drew soothing circles on his back. Held him. Breathed with him. Until he opened his mouth.

“I...I had a flashback to the time I was in hell.”

“Like literal hell?” Derek asked flabbergasted, pulling away a bit and searching Dean's face.

“Yes.” Dean still had his eyes squeezed shut. “I'm so sorry. I...I thought I'd...”

“NEVER say sorry to me,” Derek said fiercely. “Never say sorry for that.”

“But I want you so much that it fucking hurts,” Dean said brokenly, holding Derek's face.

Derek bit down on his lip.

Fuck, he wanted it too. He wanted Dean, like he never wanted anything or anybody in his life. But he had similar issues as Dean regarding sex. How far could he shed his deep-rooted inhibitions for his mate?

Derek started.

Mate.

That was what Dean was to him.

Gorgeous, Fierce. Loyal.

Derek’s chest contracted in helpless want, but he didn’t know how to articulate it...he didn’t know how to want it even.

Finally, he just leaned forward and hid his face in the crook of Dean’s neck inhaling deeply. 

They stayed like that for some time. Content to hold each other for this was sweet. Sweeter than anything Derek had experienced before. But then...he took a deep fortifying breath.

“Well, we can always...the other way round.” he murmured quietly. 

Dean’s hands rubbing his sides lovingly stopped abruptly.

“Der?” Dean kissed his head softly.

“Mmm.”

“Lemme see your face.”

In answer, Derek just burrowed himself deeper.

He heard Dean sigh. Very put-upon.

“Hey, look at me, come on.” Dean shrugged his shoulder, gently shaking him. “Look into my eyes and tell me it's OK.”

“It _is_ OK,” Derek mumbled from the same position.

“How’d I know it's OK? ” Dean sounded both impossibly fond and totally exasperated. “You had been a repeated victim of abuse. How'd I know - ”

“Because I trust you,” Derek murmured against his skin. “Implicitly.”

Dean buried one hand in Derek’s soft hair and pulled his face up so that he can look at the wolf, but he was still averting his eyes.

“So why are you hiding from me?”

Derek finally looked at him and he knew he was burning up, with his ears painted scarlet and his neck a lurid shade of pink.

Dean's eyes softened. He traced his cheeks, following the path of the blush almost wonderingly.

"You're not afraid, are you," he said. "You're just...self-conscious."

It gave Derek goosebumps how every time Dean just get him. Could read him like he was an open book.

“I...” Derek started haltingly. “I...I haven't been with anybody...in-in a while...actually never, like that. At least not somebody I’d like to spend the rest of my life with. And I don't know if I'd be any good.” 

Something in Dean’s eyes changed imperceptibly. They nearly shone. And Derek had difficulty in meeting them.    

“Listen to me,” he spoke seriously. “You don’t have to do anything that you are not remotely comfortable with. We'll take our time and we'll find a way around...our triggers. Fuck I can't even believe I'm saying this but sex is not why I wanna be with you." Then he rolled his eyes at himself. "Well, who am I kidding, you are gorgeous and I want to kind of eat you whole _all the time_. And have a hard time keeping my hands off you...but trust me I'd never want you to do anything just because it'll please me if _you_ don’t share the pleasure with me.”

Derek nodded. Then, he blurted out, “But I want to.”

His cheeks were burning again. “Even if you didn’t have those flashbacks...someday I'd have wanted the role to be reversed. I want everything with you. I want it all.”

He held Dean's eyes and said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "Please."

Dean’s face lit up with a smile so bright that Derek felt momentarily dazzled. He resolved he would be the cause to make his mate smile like this again, as often as possible.

After only a little while, Derek realized this must be what making love meant...

It ebbed and flowed. It shackled him down and freed him. It was slow and burning fast. Volcanoes erupting in destructive delight. Stars dying a light year away. It settled him. Maddened him. Killed him. Revived him. Tortured him. Rescued him…and he was here but not here. He was soaring high, not feeling the weight of his body. Gravity didn’t work anymore. Anchors gone. Inhibitions gone. All pretensions falling away like a distant memory. He was free. He was free and he wanted to shout it out from the rooftops. He wanted to cry himself hoarse. He wanted to sing, loud and out-of-tune. He wanted to brand himself with this feeling, drown in it, smother in it and fucking die. For this couldn’t be it for him. It was not humanly possible to feel this much satiated and this much hungry at the same time. This was not real. This was some witch weaving soft spells around his heart. That must be it. Or how could he survive this? How was he supposed to survive this much of happiness? Where would he even hold this joy? His heart was surely not big enough.

But God, he wanted this. He wanted to be torn open and be read and be known like this. Intimately. The way Dean’s eyes were darting all over him, memorizing all this dips and curves, breathing in his sweat-slick skin, opening him up and spreading him thin. He wanted this.

Derek closed his eyes, feeling whole in his skin for the first time in a long, long time. Like he used to do when his mother's smile echoed in the woods. And not just the ghost of its memory.

 

...

 

When Derek opened his eyes, he felt like he was reborn, maybe. After experiencing the novel feeling of sleeping on somebody’s chest, exchanging weak banters, half-fond and sleep-soft...and then drowsing off...eventually.

Except for when he opened his eyes and peered up, Dean was staring at him steadily. With ruby red eyes and a smirk. And his teeth looked really sharp. Like a shark.

_Shit!_


End file.
